THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
?  OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Marion  Randall  Parsons 


MORE    NOTES    FROM 
UNDERLEDGE 


m 


f 


zom 


f     vyilliam    JL>ottA 

<S%)utko^  of 
a  %ew  Sngland  06ill*ide" 


3)odd,  cW5ead  8$  (Sompany 


COPYRIGHT,  1904 

BY 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

Published  September,  1904 


GIFT 


P37/ 


To  the  memory  of 
SARAH    PORTER 

"  the  lady  of  the  manor'''  in  grateful 
recognition  of  unbounded  neigh- 
borly  kindness  and  good-fellowship. 


M816633 


NOTE 

SOME  of  the  papers  in  this  volume  have 
heretofore  appeared  in  periodicals,  and  the 
thanks  of  the  author  are  due  to  the  editors 
of  the  Farmington  Magazine,  the  New  York 
Times,  the  Outlook,  the  Hartford  Post, 
Lippincott's  Magazine,  Our  Animal  Friends, 
and  the  Chap  Book  for  permission  to  repub- 
lish  them  here.  All  these,  however,  have  been 
subjected  to  careful  revision  since  their  origi- 
nal appearance,  with  consequent  changes,  in 
some  instances  changes  of  considerable  im- 
portance. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.      TUNXIS                .            .           ,  .         *           r  '  * 

II.      AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING         .  . 
III.       FARMINGTON       (CONNECTICUT)       EIGHTY 

YEARS   AGO             .            .            «           t  • 

UNDERLEDGE               .           ,           »:    ,       •  .     . 

THE    FOG            .           ..           ,    •    '.  V  ;;.':,  >  ,,  . 

WAITING   FOR   THE   RAIN            ,       .  s.  . 

THE   WIND         .            ,           .           f           ^  , 


IV. 
V. 

VI. 
VII. 
VIII. 

IX. 
X. 

XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 

XV. 
XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 


65 
73 
79 
84 


TITUS   ANDRONICUS             •,           r  , 

RUMEX   AND   PLANTAGO   .            .  .  . 

— AND   RHUS   TOXICODENDRON  »  t 

WISHES               .'          ,     .'-    f     •    !  >  ••  4' 

THE   MINERS   .            .        •    . .       ,   t  -  ^  | 

COMIN'  THRO'  THE  RYE 
KICKING  AS  A  FINE  ART 
PROVE  ALL  THINGS  J  HOLD  FAST  THAT 
WHICH  IS  GOOD          ...» 

OPEN    SESAME  .  .  . 

AM  i  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

IN  THE   HEART   OF   THE   STORM 
CHEATING   THE   EYES         .  .  . 

AN   IMPRESSION          .  .  .  .  . 

MY    SCULPTORS          .  .  .  . 

THE   CHIMNEY    SWALLOWS 
ix 


132 
136 
141 

146 
152 
I56 
159 
I65 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.       KITTIWINK l68 

XXV.  MY    SPORTING   COLUMN  :    I                .            .175 

XXVI.  MY    SPORTING   COLUMN  :    II               .            .  l8o 

XXVII.  AN   IRIDESCENT   DREAM         .            .            .  IQO 

XXVIII.  HOW  TO   ORIENT  ONE'S   SELF        .           .  195 

XXIX.      A   FAIR   DAY 2O5 

xxx.     LAMB'S  TALES 213 

XXXI.      THE   WASPS 223 

XXXII.  WATER,    WATER   EVERYWHERE    .            .  225 

XXXIII.  ONLY   THE   STARS  .  .  .  .23! 

XXXIV.  THE  LIGHTS   IN   THE   VALLEY       .            .  23$ 
XXXV.  THE   TOWN   FARM           ....  244 

XXXVI.  THE    SENSE    (OR   THE   NONSENSE  ?)     OF 

COLOR 247 

XXXVII.  THE   LATE   JACK   FROST          .            .            .  253 
XXXVIII.  UN   MAUVAIS   QUART   D'HEURE      .            .  260 
XXXIX.  MADEMOISELLE     PREFERE      ET      MADE- 
MOISELLE JEANNE                 .            .            .  268 
XL.  THE   PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP           .            .  277 
XLI.  THE   GUEST   BOOK          .            .            .            .  2Q7 
XLII.  OVER  AND    UNDER   THE   SNOW     .            .  305 


MORE    NOTES    FROM 
UNDERLEDGE 


Anacharsis  coming  to  Athens,  knocked  at  Solon's  door,  and 
told  him  that  he,  being  a  stranger,  was  come  to  be  his  guest, 
and  contract  a  friendship  with  him  ;  and  Solon  replying,  "It  is 
better  to  make  friends  at  home,'1  Anacharsis  answered, 
"  Then  you  are  at  home,  make  friendship  with  me." 

— PLUTARCH. 


MORE    NOTES    FROM 
UNDERLEDGE 

i 

TUNXIS 

TUNXIS  CEPUS,  or  Unxis  Sepus, 
— "the  village  at  the  bend  of  the  lit- 
tle river," — such  was  the  name  un- 
der which  this  place  first  appeared 
upon  the  written  record.  I  am  frequently  im- 
pressed by  the  resemblances,  and  equally  by  the 
contrasts,  between  its  situation  and  that  of 
Selborne.  Of  the  similarities,  perhaps  the 
strongest  is  "  The  Hanger,"  the  belt  of  wood 
running  along  the  ledge.  At  Selborne,  how- 
ever, this  was  composed  of  beech  trees — "  the 
most  lovely  of  all  forest  trees,"  White  calls 
them,  and  I  quite  agree  with  him.  These  we 
cannot  rival.  Directly  behind  the  cottage  I 
found  one  beech  of  moderate  size,  perhaps  a 
foot  in  diameter  near  the  root,  which  was 
being  rudely  treated  by  an  uncouth  chestnut 
that  had  stretched  great  arms  around  it,  with 
a  gesture  rather  aggressive  than  caressing. 
The  chestnut  I  caused  to  be  removed,  piece- 


TUNXIS 

meal,  because  only  so  could  serious  injury  to 
the  beech  be  prevented,  and  I  hope  that  the 
latter  will  profit  by  the  relief.  I  have  planted 
some  others,  but  ill  fortune  has  attended  them, 
and  even  though  a  better  day  should  dawn,  I 
cannot  expect  ever  to  sit  under  their  drooping 
branches. 

The  other  trees  in  that  portion  of  the  wood 
which  dominates  Underledge  are  in  great 
variety,  chestnut,  oak,  and  ash  predominating, 
and  of  all  sizes  and  ages  up  to  about  fifty  or 
sixty  years.  There  are  no  very  large  trees, 
but  a  number  of  fair  size,  intermingled  with 
seedlings  and  saplings,  and  in  some  places 
shrubs  of  smaller  growth,  especially  the  wych 
hazel  and  the  prickly  ash,  both  of  which  are 
numerous.  All  these  maintain  themselves 
under  somewhat  adverse  circumstances,  grow- 
ing as  they  do  between  the  broken  fragments 
which  form  the  talus  of  the  trap  ledge  which 
here  represents  the  chalk  cliff  at  Selborne. 
The  pigeon  berry  and  the  hepatica  clothe  the 
surface  wherever  they  find  enough  earth  to 
support  them.  Growing  in  the  soil  on  the  top 
of  the  ledge,  there  are  a  few  moderate-sized 
silver  pines  and  hemlocks,  at  the  foot  of  which 
I  have  planted  the  trailing  arbutus  with  some 
promise  of  its  survival,  and  beyond,  there  is  a 
ragged  pasture  somewhat  overgrown  with 
small  cedars,  sumachs,  and  white  birches,  and 
carpeted  with  cinquefoil,  buttercups,  wild 


TUNXIS 

strawberries,  and  a  little  grass,  excepting 
where  the  rocky  framework  protrudes,  as  it 
does  in  many  places.  The  top  of  the  hill  is 
but  a  short  distance  beyond  the  ledge,  and  it  is 
not  much  higher. 

At  the  southwestern  end  of  my  part  of  the 
ledge,  near  Sunset  Rock,  the  trees  are  smaller, 
and  there  is  a  ragged  bit  that  I  am  very  fond 
of; mostly  small  cedars, very  dilapidated, moss- 
grown  and  old  for  their  years,  and  much 
wound  about  and  entangled  with  bittersweet. 
Here  we  reach  a  narrow  break,  through  which 
the  highway  winds,  and  beyond  there  stands 
a  noble  grove  of  old  oaks  and  hemlocks,  which 
is  a  joy  forever. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  ledge,  which  does 
not  here  rise  more  than  about  four  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea,  the  ground  slopes  rapidly 
to  the  valley,  which,  between  this  point  and 
the  foot  of  the  western  hills,  is  two  or  three 
miles  in  width,  pretty  nearly  level,  and  liable 
to  frequent  overflow,  on  which  occasions  we 
have  a  pleasant  variety  of  lake  scenery.  The 
general  trend  of  the  valley  is  from  north  to 
south,  and  with  little  doubt  our  river  at  one 
time  ran  through  it  to  the  Sound,  in  similar 
fashion  to  most  of  the  other  rivers  in  the  State. 
By  some  cause,  probably  the  gradual  though 
very  moderate  elevation  of  the  ground  to  the 
south  of  us,  its  course  was  turned  at  this  point, 
after  it  had  fought  its  way  hither  from  the 


TUNXIS 

northwest;  and  forming  a  horseshoe,  and 
flowing  to  the  northward  for  about  ten  miles, 
it  found  or  made  a  gap  through  the  hills  and 
so  passed  out  southeastwardly  into  tlie  Con- 
necticut at  Windsor. 

The  bed  of  the  river  here  is  only  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  The  river  is  perhaps  a  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  in  width,  but  so  closely  bordered  by  trees 
that  the  surface  of  the  water  rarely  shows 
from  a  distance,  excepting  here  and  there  when 
the  trees  are  bare.  The  hills  beyond  the  val- 
ley rise  in  steep  rounded  slopes,  and  can  be 
seen,  tier  beyond  tier,  for  many  miles,  espe- 
cially in  the  north-northwest,  the  most  distant 
points  visible  in  that  direction  being  perhaps 
fourteen  hundred  feet  in  height,  but  the  hori- 
zon line  is  not  far  from  a  horizontal  one — 
which  certainly  befits  such  a  line. 

The  hill  which  is  capped  by  the  ledge  is 
known  in  the  old  records  as  the  "  First  Moun- 
tain." It  breaks  away  towards  the  eastward, 
not  far  from  the  cottage,  in  the  direction  of  a 
copious  fountain  known  as  "  Paul  Spring," 
which  from  time  to  time  becomes  the  center  of 
a  tradition  that  it  is  unfailing,  until  an  un- 
usually dry  season  breaks  in  upon  it  and 
damages  its  reputation  for  the  time  being. 
Here  begins  the  "  Second  Mountain,"  or 
North  Mountain,  or  Talcott  Mountain, 
which  by  various  leaps  and  bounds  climbs 


TUNXIS 

away  to  the  northward,  a  noble  mass,  with 
some  fine  cliffs  and  grand  headlands,  upon 
which  the  lingering  afternoon  sunlight  de- 
lights to  practice  all  its  finest  tinting.  This 
range  in  its  greatest  height  does  not  exceed 
about  nine  hundred  feet,  but  is  so  near  us, 
and  the  western  face  is  in  some  parts  so  steep, 
that  the  effect  is  of  a  much  more  considerable 
height. 

Back  of  the  ledge,  to  the  southwest,  is  an 
artificial  pond  of  moderate  size,  and  much 
beauty,  used  as  a  reservoir,  and  beyond  that  is 
a  steep  summit  known  as  "  Rattlesnake  Moun- 
tain," crowned  with  huge  masses  of  rock  tossed 
about  in  wild  confusion.  It  is  said  that  the 
crotalus  still  makes  himself  at  home  upon  this 
mountain.  As  to  this  I  cannot  say,  but  I  can 
safely  certify  as  to  the  copperhead. 

The  slope  upon  this  side  of  the  valley  is 
covered  with  a  soil  made  largely  from  a  dis- 
integrated sandstone,  and  some  of  it  is  very 
productive  when  kindly  treated.  The  bed  of 
the  valley  itself  is  alluvial,  and  in  some  places 
quite  rich,  though  the  soil  is  rather  "  sour." 
Here  and  there  are  great  hills  of  drift,  mostly 
gravel,  some  of  which  are  popularly  supposed 
to  have  been  constructed  by  the  Indians,  but 
all  are  doubtless  chargeable  to  glacial  agency. 
The  valley  (which  stretches  far  to  the  north- 
ward, to  be  bounded  at  last,  some  thirty  miles 
away,  by  a  group  of  mountains  in  the  old  Bay 


TUNXIS 

State)  is,  as  are  the  hills,  much  covered  with 
timber,  mostly  of  moderate  size.  The  largest 
and  most  impressive  trees,  excepting  a  few 
great  elms,  are  the  buttonwoods,  which  in  the 
low  grounds  have  sometimes  attained  impos- 
ing dimensions.  The  cultivated  and  the 
cleared  land  is  in  larger  proportion,  however, 
than  appears  from  any  elevated  point,  since,  in 
perspective,  a  small  piece  of  woodland  natu- 
rally conceals  a  considerable  space  of  bare 
ground. 

The  village  lies  near  the  foot  of  the 
western  slope  of  the  First  Mountain,  the 
"  Main  "  Street,  which  has  a  few  angles,  but 
the  general  course  of  which  corresponds  nearly 
with  that  of  the  valley,  being  built  upon  at 
more  or  less  close  intervals  on  both  sides,  for 
something  over  a  mile.  There  are  also  a 
"  High  "  Street,  and  a  "  River  "  Street,  upon 
each  of  which  there  are  some  houses,  and 
there  are  a  few  cross-streets,  upon  which,  how- 
ever, with  two  exceptions,  there  are  few  build- 
ings. 

The  aspect  of  the  village  is  that  of  one 
which  was  not  made,  but  grew .  Most  of  the 
houses  are  nowhere  in  particular,  and  uni- 
formity "  isn't  in  it."  The  elm  is  our  most 
characteristic  tree,  but  the  maples  are  nearly 
or  quite  as  numerous  as  the  elms,  and  lest 
these  two  should  gain  the  impression  that  they 
are  the  only  trees  of  importance,  others  in 


TUNXIS 

considerable  variety  are  to  be  found,  breaking 
in  upon  any  attempt  at  monotony. 

White  speaks  of  the  Norton  farmhouse,  as 
being  to  the  northwestward  of  the  village  of 
Selborne.  The  Norton  farmhouse  we  have 
also,  but  it  is  to  the  northeastward  of  our 
village.  By  the  way,  White  tells  of  a  "  broad 
leaved  elm,  or  wych  hazel,"  which  stood  in  the 
court  of  the  Norton  farmhouse,  the  trunk  of 
which  was  eight  feet  in  diameter.  This  sug- 
gests the  caution  with  which  we  are  compelled 
to  handle  popular  names,  the  term  wych  hazel 
being  confined,  with  us,  to  the  extremely 
crabbed  and  angular  shrub,  the  Hamamelis 
Virginiana,  which  brings  its  golden  blossoms 
to  brighten  the  dying  year. 

But  what  have  we  here  after  all  that  I  have 
written?  Merely  the  bones,  the  skeleton  as 
it  were — living  it  may  be,  but  waiting  to  be 
clothed  with  leaf  and  flower  and  fruit,  with 
lichen  and  moss  and  bracken,  waiting  to  palpi- 
tate under  the  sunlight,  and  to  lie  pale  and 
wan  under  the  waning  moon:  waiting  for  the 
dash  of  the  warm  summer  rain:  waiting  to  be 
breathed  upon,  and  to  respond  to  the  touch 
of  the  life-giving  winds.  This  is  our  Tunxis, 
the  village  of  our  hearts'  desire. 


-       II 

AS    IT    WAS    IN    THE    BE- 
GINNING 

WHY  did  the  good  people  who  wan- 
dered from  Wethersfield  and 
Hartford  thus  far  into  the  wilder- 
ness in  1640,  or  their  superiors  in 
the  General  Court,  think  it  necessary  five  years 
later  to  give  the  town  the  name  of  Farming- 
ton?  It  is  a  brave  name,  it  is  true,  and  de- 
scriptive, for  this  was  a  settlement  of  farmers ; 
but  it  is  imported  and  commonplace,  and  stands 
in  the  stead  of  one  even  more  descriptive,  and 
quite  distinctive,  and  withal  aboriginal.  They 
were,  these  stanch  pioneers,  not  averse  to 
homely  and  descriptive  names  in  the  language 
with  which  they  were  most  familiar,  as  wit- 
ness "  The  Great  Swamp,"  and  "  Lovely- 
town,"  and  the  "  Barn-door  Hills,"  and 
"Bird's  Hill,"  and  "Gin-still  Hill,"  and 
"Whortleberry  Hill,"  and  "Satan's  King- 
dom," and  "  Pine  Meadow,"  and  the  like. 
Perhaps  they  felt  a  certain  shrinking  from 
terms  which  smacked  too  strongly  of  their 
neighbors  upon  the  river  bank,  however 
amicably  they  consorted  with  them  for  the 

8 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

most  part,  and  thought,  moreover,  that  it  was 
not  fitting  that  self-respecting  Christians 
should  take  to  themselves  a  name  by  which  the 
people  of  Suncquasson  designated  their  primi- 
tive village. 

Yet  some  of  us  even  now  look  back  re- 
gretfully upon  the  old  name,  and  would 
gladly  again  accept  it,  or  the  more  important 
portion  of  it,  even  after  the  memories  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  have  incrusted  that  to 
which  we  are  at  present  most  accustomed. 
Perhaps,  then,  we  should  get  our  letters 
directly,  instead  of  having  them  sent  first  to 
Torrington.  At  all  events,  we  should  live  in 
neither  a  "  ton "  nor  a  "  ville,"  and  that 
would  be  something;  and  we  try  to  keep  the 
name  alive  by  using  it  as  occasion  offers.  And 
we  keep  fast  hold  of  the  name  of  the  Pequa- 
buck,  the  littler  river  which  glides  into  the 
"  little "  river,  the  Tunxis,  at  its  bend,  by 
which  stream  the  Indians  dropped  down  in 
their  canoes  to  catch  salmon  in  the  larger  one 
in  those  golden  days  when  salmon  freely  fre- 
quented these  waters,  ere  yet  mills  poured 
their  dyestuffs  into  them,  and  towns  and  vil- 
lages their  offscourings  of  all  sorts. 

With  what  singular  rapidity  the  early  set- 
tlers spread  over  this  eastern  country!  It 
seems  almost  as  if  they  were  operated  upon  by 
some  repulsive  force  acting  among  their 
atoms;  for  no  sooner  had  they  fairly  deter- 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

mined  upon  a  spot  upon  which  to  place  their 
hive,  than  out  went  a  swarm  to  find  and  ap- 
propriate another  nesting  place.  It  was  but 
in  1620,  in  the  wild  December  weather,  that 
the  Pilgrims  groped  their  way  into  Plymouth 
harbor;  in  1628  that  Salem  was  invaded  by 
the  Puritans  under  Endicott.  But  already  in 
three  years  after  the  latter  date  a  garland  of 
settlements  surrounded  Tri-mountain ;  Salem 
and  Newe-Towne  and  Watertown  and 
Charlestowne  and  Rocksbury  and  Dorchester 
and  a  number  of  others.  In  1633,  at  the  in- 
stigation of  Governor  Winslow  of  Plymouth, 
William  Holmes  had  set  up  his  trading-post 
at  the  point  where  the  Tunxis  empties  into  the 
Connecticut — at  Matianuck,  the  beginning  of 
the  new  Dorchester,  now  Windsor;  albeit  it 
did  not  become  Dorchester  until  the  Puritans 
of  Massachusetts  Bay  had  elbowed  the  Pil- 
grims out  of  it.  The  next  year  at  the  Indian 
village  of  Pyquag  began  the  settlement  of 
Watertown,  soon  to  become  Wethersfield  and 
a  year  later  Suckiaug  became  Newe-Towne, 
and  so  remained  until  Hartford  superseded  it. 
In  1634  that  courtly  gentleman,  John  Win- 
throp  the  younger,  representing  Lord  Say  and 
Sele,  Lord  Brooke,  John  Hampden,  John 
Pym,  Sir  Richard  Saltonstall  and  their  as- 
sociates, had  planted  himself  at  Saybrook,  and 
in  1636  William  Pyncheon,  following,  or 
making,  the  Bay  path  to  the  bank  of  the  Con- 

10 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

necticut  River,  had  formed  a  settlement, 
which  was  to  be  restricted  to  forty  families,  at 
Agawam,  which  is  Springfield. 

The  Bay  settlements  proper  began  in  1628, 
and  already  in  1636  Roger  Williams  had 
been  compelled  to  move  on  to  Sekonk  and 
Providence.  In  1637  Theophilus  Eaton  came 
to  Quinnipiac  to  spy  out  the  land,  and  the 
following  year,  with  Davenport  and  the  rest 
of  their  company,  drove  the  stakes  upon  which 
were  to  be  established  the  hard  lines  which 
should  hold  sound  in  the  faith  and  in  morals 
the  worthy  inhabitants  of  New-Haven  but 
which,  alas!  should  prove  so  ineffective  with 
the  unworthy  ones. 

Then  came,  in  1639,  tne  settlement  of 
Wepowaug,  alias  Milford,  and  of  Menun- 
katuck,  alias  Guilford,  and  of  Unquowa,  alias 
Fairfield,  and  Cupheag,  alias  Stratford,  and 
so  on  and  so  on. 

The  first  suggestion  toward  a  settlement  in 
Connecticut  seems  to  be  referred  to  in  the 
following  extract  from  John  Winthrop's  jour- 
nal, April  4,  1631 : 

"  Wahginnacut,  a  sachem  of  the  River 
Quonehtacut,  which  lies  west  of  Naragancet, 
came  to  the  Governour  at  Boston,  with  John 
Sagamore  and  Jack  Straw,  (an  Indian  who 
had  lived  in  England  and  had  served  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh  and  was  now  turned  Indian 
again,)  and  divers  of  their  Sannops,  and 

II 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

brought  a  letter  to  the  Governour  from 
Mr.  Endecott  to  this  effect:  That  the  said 
Wahginnacut  was  very  desirous  to  have  some 
Englishmen  to  come  plant  in  his  country,  and 
offered  to  find  them  corn,  and  give  them 
yearly  eighty  skins  of  beaver,  and  that  the 
country  was  very  fruitful,  &c.,  and  wished 
that  there  might  be  two  men  sent  with  him  to 
see  the  country.  The  Governour  entertained 
them  at  dinner,  but  would  send  none  with 
him." 

This  was  in  1631.  We  have  seen  how  soon 
the  situation  was  changed,  and  how  rapidly 
the  lines  ran  out  southward  and  westward. 
Thus,  within  twenty  years  from  that  bleak 
December  day  when 

**  The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 

On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 
And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed," 

there  had  grown  up  a  fringe  of  settlements 
from  the  Penobscot  to  Manhattan  Island,  and 
some  others  only  to  be  reached  by  long  jour- 
neys upon  inland  waters,  or  by  the  paths  made 
by  the  Indians  through  the  forests  and  over 
the  mountains.  Perhaps  it  was  with  them  as 
it  was  with  Daniel  Boone — that  their  fore- 
most desire  was  for  elbow-room. 

If  so,  they  certainly  found  it,  but  they  paid 
dearly  for  it.  They  were  not  all  people  of 

12 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

cultivation  and  refinement,  but  a  good  propor- 
tion— I  may  even  say  a  large  proportion — of 
them  appear  to  have  been  such,  and  to  have 
been  accustomed  to  such  comforts  as  were 
attainable  by  families  of  first-rate  standing  and 
position  in  the  old  country.  Realizing  this, 
we  can  form  some  idea  of  the  trials  through 
which  they  passed  in  those  early  years. 

Think,  for  example,  of  that  first  winter  in 
Newe-Towne,  the  recent  Suckiaug,  in  1635- 
36,  when  the  Charter  Oak  was  young.  The 
largest  party  for  the  year  did  not  leave  the 
"  Bay  "  until  mid-October,  and  their  journey 
was  long.  They  reached  their  destination 
wholly  unprepared  for  winter,  and  that  year 
the  river  was  quite  frozen  over  by  the  middle 
of  November.  Shelter  was  insufficient,  and 
provisions  became  very  scarce.  Their  sup- 
plies, which  had  been  sent  by  sea,  failed  to 
reach  them.  Many,  disheartened,  made  their 
way  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  where 
they  found  a  small  vessel  fast  in  the  ice;  this 
they  were  able  to  extricate,  and  in  it,  after  a 
rough  and  dangerous  voyage,  they  succeeded 
in  returning  to  Boston,  whither  others  strug- 
gled through  the  snow-encumbered  forest. 
Those  who  remained  had  a  sorry  time  of  it ; 
but  they  endured.  A  terrible  pestilence  of 
smallpox  had  just  swept  through  the  Indian 
villages,  but  the  whites  did  not  suffer  from  it. 

A  different  experience  attended  the  larger 

13 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

party  which,  under  the  lead  of  the  Rev. 
Thomas  Hooker,  moved  the  Newe-Towne 
(Cambridge)  Church — the  society,  not  the 
building — to  the  newer  Newe-Towne  in  the 
following  year,  when  a  party  of  a  hundred 
men,  women,  and  children,  with  Mrs.  Hooker 
carried  in  a  litter,  and  with  their  flocks  and 
their  herds,  journeying  like  the  Israelites  of 
old,  took  their  way  through  the  fresh  June 
woods,  and  after  two  weeks'  travel  reached 
their  new  home  in  the  very  glory  of  the  early 
summer. 

Thomas  Hooker  was  easily  the  command- 
ing spirit  of  the  movement  and  of  the  newr 
colony  of  the  Connecticut,  consisting  of  the 
three  settlements  of  Windsor,  Hartford,  and 
Wethersfield.  Whatever  other  reasons  may 
have  existed  for  this  migration,  it  is  clear  that 
the  oligarchical  spirit  of  the  Bay  Settlements 
was  utterly  foreign  and  intolerable  to  him. 
To  him  probably  more  than  to  any  other 
single  individual  is  to  be  traced  the  form  of 
democratic  government  adopted  in  the  United 
States.  He  was  evidently  of  a  mind  with  Sir 
Richard  Saltonstall,  who,  after  his  return  to 
England  from  the  first  Watertown  in  1631, 
wrote  to  the  ministers  of  Boston:  "It  doth 
not  a  little  grieve  my  spirit  to  hear  what  sadd 
things  are  reported  of  your  tyranny  and 
persecutions  in  New-England,  and  that  you 
fyne,  whip,  and  imprison  men  for  their  con- 

14 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

sciences.  .  .  .  These  rigid  ways  have  laid  you 
very  low  in  the  hearts  of  the  saynts.  We 
pray  for  you  and  wish  you  prosperitie  every 
way,  and  not  to  practice  these  courses  in  the 
wilderness  which  you  went  so  far  to  prevent. 
I  hope  you  do  not  assume  to  yourselves  in- 
fallibilitie  of  judgment,  when  the  most  learned 
of  the  apostles  confessed  he  knew  but  in  part 
and  saw  but  darkly  as  through  a  glass." 

In  a  sermon  preached  in  1638,  the  year 
before  the  adoption  of  the  first  Connecticut 
Constitution,  Mr.  Hooker  laid  down  three 
leading  doctrines,  upon  which  that  Constitu- 
tion was  subsequently  based: 

"  I.  That  the  choice  of  public  magistrates 
belongs  unto  the  people,  by  God's  own  al- 
lowance. 

"  II.  The  privilege  of  election,  which  be- 
longs to  the  people,  therefore  must  not  be 
exercised  according  to  their  humours,  but  ac- 
cording to  the  blessed  will  and  law  of  God. 

"  III.  They  who  have  power  to  appoint 
officers  and  magistrates,  it  is  in  their  power 
also  to  set  the  bounds  and  limitations  of  the 
power  and  place  unto  which  they  call  them." 

While  the  form  of  government  established 
and  the  government  conducted  by  the  Con- 
necticut colony  upon  these  principles  were  in 
lively  contrast  with  those  established  by  the 
Puritans  in  Boston  and  in  New-Haven,  there 
was  no  lack  of  deference  and  respect  to  those 

15 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

who  were  respectable,  and  quite  naturally  and 
properly  the  minister  of  the  dominant  church 
was  an  influential  and  usually,  perhaps,  the 
most  influential  figure.  It  was  probably  for- 
tunate, therefore,  that  the  church  at  the  new 
settlement  upon  the  Tunxis  should  have  been 
presided  over  for  many  years,  first  by  the  son- 
in-law,  and  then  by  the  son,  of  Thomas 
Hooker. 

At  the  beginning  the  settlers  were  few,  and 
in  1645  the  "  grand  list  "  of  the  town,  that 
is,  its  assessment  roll,  footed  up  £10.  Ten 
years  later  it  amounted  to  £5519.  Accord- 
ing to  Egbert  Cowles,  in  1775  the  footing  of 
the  grand  list  was  £66,571,  while  that  of 
Hartford  was  £28,120.  This,  however,  is 
misleading,  for  the  territory  then  embraced 
within  the  town  of  Farmington  has  since  been 
divided  into  more  than  half  a  dozen  towns. 
A  good  proportion  of  the  names  of  the  early 
settlers  I  find  still  represented  in  the  town. 

In  considering  the  hardships  which  the 
early  colonists  endured,  we  should  remember 
that  in  1640  the  comforts  of  life,  even  in 
well-to-do  circles  in  England,  were  not  every- 
thing that  might  be  asked.  They  did  not 
have  trolley  cars  running  past  their  doors  and 
running  over  their  children  if  they  didn't 
"  watch  out."  They  did  not  have  gas  burn- 
ing in  houses  for  country  cousins  to  blow  out, 
or  circulating  boilers  to  blow  up,  or  hot-air 

16 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

furnaces  to  desiccate  them.  They  did  not 
have  mails  delivered  every  three  hours,  or 
Western  Union  Telegraph  boys,  with  messages 
in  their  pockets,  playing  marbles  upon  the 
streets.  There  are  several  things  which  they 
did  not  have  anywhere,  even  in  the  heart  of 
London,  which  must  be  taken  into  the  account 
in  considering  the  question  of  relative  com- 
fort. 

But  by  the  side  of  the  Tunxis  the  new- 
comers had  fertile  meadows,  and  between  the 
hills  they  found  good  pasturage  for  their 
cattle.  They  shared  the  deer  and  other  game 
in  the  woods,  and  the  trout  and  the  salmon 
and  the  shad  in  the  river,  with  their  copper- 
colored  brethren.  These  were  numerous, 
and  they  lived  hardly  more  than  a  stone's- 
throw  away;  but  they  were  friendly,  and  they 
stalked  the  village  street  with  as  much  in- 
quisitiveness,  and  swallowed  West  India  rum 
with  as  much  copiousness  and  gusto,  as  any 
of  the  palefaces. 

And  what  an  inheritance  they  left  to  us 
of  the  later  time!  Posted  upon  Rattlesnake 
Mountain,  or  even  upon  the  lesser  height  of 
the  First  Mountain  or  of  Sunset  Rock,  or  at 
the  point  where  the  Pilgrim's  Path  reached 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  the  spot  from  which  they 
probably  viewed  it  first,  one  needs  not  to  be 
instructed  as  to  the  attraction  which  the  scene 
must  have  had  for  those  who  first  looked  down 

17 


AS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

upon  it.  In  front  lie  broad  meadow-lands, 
stretching  far  to  the  southward,  through 
which  the  Pequabuck  twists  and  turns,  to  lose 
itself  at  length  in  the  Tunxis,  which,  coming 
through  rocky  gorges  from  the  hills  of  Bark- 
hamsted  in  the  northwest,  emerges  upon  the 
plain  and  turns  to  the  northward,  where  it 
meets  its  younger  sister  and  then  bathes  the 
foot  of  the  Talcott  Mountain  for  fifteen  or 
sixteen  miles  before  it  finds  an  opportunity  to 
slip  through  and  run  southeastward  to  its 
union  with  the  Connecticut.  Within  the 
horseshoe  are  other  meadows,  annually  over- 
flowed more  or  less  in  the  early  spring,  as  are 
also  those  to  the  southward;  and  then  come 
gentle  hills  and  an  undulating  country  which 
the  eye  follows  up  to  the  Massachusetts 
border,  to  be  checked  at  last  by  the  mountains 
of  Montgomery. 

And  though,  with  all  our  fondness  for  this 
valley  and  for  these  hills,  we  are  unable — 
perhaps  from  custom — quite  to  realize  the 
"  almost  Alpine  grandeur "  which  a  recent 
inspired  critic  found  in  our  picturesque  trap 
ledges  and  wooded  slopes,  we  are  glad  to 
recognize  in  his  rhapsody  the  proof  of  the 
inspiration  which  they  afford,  and  to  feel  in 
consequence  more  than  justified  in  our  less 
spasmodic  enjoyment  of  them. 


18 


Ill 

FARMINGTON  (CONNEC- 
TICUT) EIGHTY  YEARS 
AGO 

[Written  in  1895] 

I  HAVE  among  my  kinsfolk  one  whose 
powers  of  memory  are  my  constant  envy, 
for  she  occasionally  astonishes  her  friends 
by  recalling  with  great  vividness  occur- 
rences of  interest,  of  which  the  most  marked 
characteristic  perhaps  is  the  fact  (quite  as 
singular  to  her,  when  discovered,  as  to  others) 
that  the  events  spoken  of  took  place  some  forty 
or  fifty  years  before  she  was  born.  So  much 
for  the  value  of  a  lively  imagination  and 
power  of  assimilation.  Not  being  gifted  in 
like  manner,  I  have  had  to  rely  upon  the  recol- 
lections of  others,  and  upon  the  material 
which  I  found  accessible,  some  of  it  in  print 
and  some  in  manuscript,  which  I  have  un- 
hesitatingly laid  under  contribution  whenever 
I  could  make  it  serviceable.  I  am  especially 
indebted  to  Julius  Gay,  the  admirable  chron- 
icler of  his  native  village. 

It  is  said  that  all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  the 

19 


FARMINGTON 

center  of  the  Christian  world.  By  many, 
Boston  has  long  been  considered  the  center  of 
the  Universe.  Farmington  could  not  fairly 
be  called  upon  to  rival  these  two  nuclei; 
nevertheless,  much  investigation  has  led  me  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  has  been  in  its  day  a 
close  third.  Planted  at  the  end  of  the  Pil- 
grim's Path,  traces  of  which  may  yet  be  dis- 
covered upon  yonder  hill,  it  later  became  an 
important  station  upon  the  highway  between 
the  cities  of  New  York  and  Boston,  with 
thoroughfares  leading  northwestward  to 
Pittsfield  and  Albany,  and  southward  to  New 
Haven.  It  seems  to  have  been  always  a 
center  from  which  formative  influences 
streamed  out  over  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  land.  If  it  be  true  that  such  centers  are 
strown  broadcast  all  over  the  country,  we  cart 
only  say,  by  way  of  paraphrase,  blessed  is  the 
land  whose  center  is  everywhere,  whose  cir- 
cumference is  nowhere. 

There  are  very  serious  difficulties  connected 
with  the  effort  to  give  a  picture  of  circum- 
stances and  customs  at  any  specific  time  long 
past.  If  there  be  survivors,  their  memories  of 
the  conditions  at  various  dates  inevitably  run 
together  and  become  confused :  books  regard- 
ing former  times  are  apt  to  be  unreliable  for 
the  same  reason,  or  because  their  authors  fail 
to  indicate  dates  in  stating  peculiarities  of 
dress,  manner,  habit,  or  condition;  and  con- 

20 


FARMINGTON 

temporary  records  usually  omit  precisely  the 
items  upon  which  one  desires  information. 
One  must  be  very  careful  in  handling  authori- 
ties, especially  printed  authorities,  which  pur- 
port to  be  of  the  latter  class.  A  notable 
instance  attracted  my  attention  while  looking 
up  the  facts  which  I  am  about  to  record.  A 
magazine  article  came  before  me,  which  pur- 
ported to  give  extracts  from  a  journal  kept  in 
this  village  by  a  young  girl  during  the  Revolu- 
tionary War — a  valuable  document,  could  it 
have  been  depended  upon.  Unfortunately, 
as  I  read  it  over,  its  whole  tone  rang  false,  as 
something  quite  impossible  under  the  circum- 
stances. When  I  came  to  apply  a  more  care- 
ful test  I  discovered  under  date  of  December, 
1776,  specific  record  of  events  which  did  not 
actually  occur  until  months  later.  The  young 
woman  to  whom  this  happened  was  comple- 
mentary, as  it  were,  to  my  kinswoman.  Her 
memory  might  be  called  the  anticipatory,  and 
the  other  the  retroactive. 

In  thinking  of  Farmington  as  it  was  eighty 
years  ago  we  are  called  upon  to  view  a  situa- 
tion differing  from  the  present  in  an  unusual 
way.  Instead  of  a  quiet,  budding  village,  we 
must  realize  a  bustling  and  busy  center  of 
manufacture  and  trade.  Goods  were  im- 
ported direct  from  foreign  parts — even  from 
the  antipodes — in  vessels  owned  in  this  place; 
and  there  are  to-day  to  be  found  here*  in 

21 


FARMINGTON 

various  houses  sets  of  real  china,  made  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  globe  to  order,  and  having 
upon  them  the  names  of  those  who  ordered 
them,  which  were  brought  over  in  these  ves- 
sels. This  is  the  more  singular,  since  our 
rivers  were  never  navigable  for  any  vessel  very 
much  more  serious  than  a  canoe,  but  little 
matters  of  this  kind  did  not  trouble  our  ances- 
tors: if  they  wanted  an  inland  seaport,  they 
would  have  it.  An  interesting  example  of 
their  indifference  to  ordinary  considerations 
came  to  my  notice  two  or  three  years  ago  in 
the  northwestern  part  of  this  State.  In  the 
course  of  my  wanderings  I  came  across  the 
ruins  of  an  old  mill  and  machinery  at  the  out- 
let of  a  pond  on  the  top  of  Mount  Riga,  some 
eighteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  Upon  inquiring  into  the 
history  of  the  place  I  discovered  that  the  pond 
was  known  as  Forge  Pond,  and  that  formerly, 
in  the  active  days  of  the  iron  industry,  iron  in 
ore  or  in  pigs  (let  us  hope  at  least  that  it  was 
the  latter)  was  hauled  up  the  mountain  in 
wagons  from  Oreville,  some  miles  distant,  to 
be  worked  in  this  old  mill,  the  finished 
material  being  subsequently  carried  down  for 
distribution.  To  most  persons  now  it  would 
seem  more  expedient  to  catch  and  use  the 
water  power  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
rather  than  at  its  summit. 

But  to  return  to  Farmington.     Goods  of 

22 


FARMINGTON 

various  kinds  were  here  manufactured  in 
numerous  buildings, — checked  and  striped 
linens,  leather,  hats,  potash,  muskets,  tinware, 
and  various  other  articles, — and  were  dis- 
tributed from  this  point  throughout  the 
country.  I  will  not  pretend  to  try  to  explain 
the  relation  between  the  facts  that  at  the  time 
these  manufactures  became  profitable  the 
country  was  under  a  low  tariff,  and  that  im- 
mediately after  the  war  of  1812-15  which  cut 
off  foreign  importations,  and  under  the  higher 
tariff  which  followed  it,  this  whole  structure 
went  to  pieces.  This  is  as  inscrutable  as  the 
fact  that  under  the  disastrous  Wilson  tariff, 
the  number  of  persons  employed  in  the  manu- 
factories of  Connecticut  increased  by  thirteen 
or  fourteen  per  cent.,  instead  of  going  exactly 
the  other  way,  as  everybody  knows  that  it 
should.  These  are  but  samples,  however,  of 
the  fashion  in  which  facts  will  fly  in  the  face 
of  well-known  philosophical  principles,  to  the 
great  and  increasing  perplexity  of  worthy 
people  who  have  arranged  all  these  things  in 
advance  precisely  as  they  should  be.  Facts 
are  like  mosquitoes:  they  don't  amount  to 
much,  but  sometimes  they  are  very  annoying. 

There  are  a  number  of  buildings  of  the 
eighteenth  century  now  standing;  but  of  these 
doubtless  many  may  have  been  transplanted 
from  their  original  positions,  though  so  long 
ago  that  it  seems  to-day  as  if  they  had  taken 

23 


FARMINGTON 

root  in  the  places  where  we  find  them.  This 
is  notably  the  case  with  a  number  of  gambrel- 
roofed  houses  upon  the  side  streets,  which  are 
now  occupied  as  dwellings,  but  which  were 
formerly  stores  or  parts  of  stores  upon  Main 
Street.  Buildings,  not  a  few,  have  disap- 
peared and  left  no  trace.  If  we  may  trust  a 
map  or  plan  drawn  many  years  ago  by  the 
Rev.  William  S.  Porter,  one  such  stood  upon 
the  front  of  my  mountain  meadow,  but  of  this 
not  a  sign  remains  unless  I  may  consider  as 
such  an  apple  tree  and  a  cherry  tree,  both  of 
humble  quality,  along  the  roadside.  The 
ordinary  monument,  the  purple  lilac,  is 
wholly  missing.  This  locomotive  tendency 
upon  the  part  of  buildings  is,  I  suppose,  a 
Yankee  peculiarity,  and  in  keeping  with  the 
restless  habit  of  the  inhabitants.  It  is  an  un- 
ending wonder  to  me  that  the  majority  of  our 
people  are  always  wishing  to  be  somewhere 
else.  I  am  sure  that  I  should  be  quite  willing 
to  remain  within  the  grounds  at  Underledge 
for  the  remainder  of  my  days,  provided  always 
that  such  a  condition  were  not  made  com- 
pulsory. But  I  am  very  doubtful  whether  I 
ever  met  another  who  could  say  so  much  of 
any  place.  With  the  majority,  perpetual 
motion  seems  to  be  the  essential  condition  of 
continued  life. 

A  number  of  the  more  important  buildings 
now  standing  were   erected  within   the  first 

24 


FARMINGTON 

twenty  years  of  this  century,  the  period  of 
the  greatest  financial  prosperity  of  the  village. 
Of  the  older  buildings  which  remain,  and  of 
which  the  date  of  erection  is  approximately 
known,  the  most  ancient  is  the  Whitman 
house  on  High  Street,  directly  in  front  of 
Underledge.  This  is  the  only  one  now  stand- 
ing of  three  supposed  to  have  been  erected 
about  the  year  1700.  The  second  and  third 
both  stood  upon  the  same  side  of  the  same 
street  until  modern  times,  one  of  them  having 
been  torn  down  in  1880  to  make  room  for  a 
barn  which  could  better  have  been  spared; 
the  other,  after  removal  to  the  rear  of  the  lot 
upon  which  it  formerly  stood,  in  which  new 
location  it  became,  I  am  told,  a  disgrace  in  its 
old  age,  was  burned  in  1886. 

Others  of  the  eighteenth  century  (begin- 
ning by  the  approach  on  the  Hartford  road) 
include  a  house  on  the  corner  of  North  Main 
Street,  now  occupied  as  a  tin  shop,  and 
another  adjoining,  a  quaint  little  dark  gam- 
brel-roofed  structure  wherein  the  Tunxis 
Library  was  started  a  number  of  years  ago. 
I  would  that  I  could  have  seen  it  in  those 
days,  for  though  the  present  library  room  in 
the  village  hall  is  commodious  and  attractive, 
it  certainly  lacks  the  special  charm  which,  I 
am  told,  always  characterized  its  former  abode. 
A  short  distance  below,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  is  a  pleasant-looking  cottage,  the 

25 


FARMINGTON 

lowness  of  which  gives  an  additional  accent  to 
the  great  size  of  the  patriarchal  elm  which 
overshadows  it.  Nearly  opposite  is  the  Elm 
Tree  Inn,  a  well-known  and  comfortable 
hostelry  of  various  dates  of  construction,  the 
original  portion  (probably  the  brick  part  of 
the  front  and  a  hospitable  room  behind  it, 
with  a  great  fireplace  in  which  hangs  the  old 
crane)  being  very  old. 

Opposite  the  north  end  of  the  Main  Street 
is  a  large  mansion,  built  about  a  hundred  and 
thirty  years  ago  by  Colonel  Fisher  Gay,  who 
led  the  farmers  of  Farmington  to  the  Revolu- 
tionary War,  wherein  he  performed  good  but 
brief  service,  for  he  gave  up  his  life  early. 
This  building  has  recently  been  moved  back 
from  the  road  and  largely  reconstructed  with 
exceedingly  good  taste,  and  the  numerous  un- 
sightly barns  which  had  been  crowded  about 
it  having  been  removed,  it  now  commands  the 
attention  which  it  deserves,  and  at  the  same 
time  permits  of  a  good  view  to  the  northward 
on  the  part  of  those  coming  up  the  street. 

Upon  Main  Street  itself,  probably  at  least 
one-third  of  the  buildings  now  standing,  and 
perhaps  a  larger  proportion,  belong  to  the 
eighteenth  century.  Some  of  these  have  been 
considerably  altered,  and  others  probably  re- 
main very  much  as  when  erected.  One  of 
these,  a  fine  old  mansion,  is  said  to  have  been 
designed  by  an  officer  of  Burgoyne's  army, 

26 


FARMINGTON 

then  sojourning  here  as  a  prisoner  of  war. 
Another,  built  for  a  tavern  immediately  after 
the  Revolution  by  one  of  the  Wadsworth 
family,  and  still  belonging  to  a  member  of 
that  family,  was  formerly  the  scene  of  many 
merrymakings,  and  it  was  at  one  time  under 
contemplation  to  hold  the  sessions  of  the 
Legislature  in  it,  the  Hartford  innkeepers 
having  failed  to  satisfy  the  members  of  that 
body. 

The  house  of  Colonel  Noadiah  Hooker,  a 
descendant  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Hooker,  the 
first  minister  of  the  church  at  Hartford,  and 
grandfather  of  John  Hooker,  now  of  that 
city,  and  great-grandfather  of  "  Professor " 
William  Gillette,  stood  on  the  New  Britain 
road  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from 
the  Main  Street,  on  or  near  the  spot  now 
occupied  by  a  small  schoolhouse,  which  was 
the  original  home  of  the  well-known  Farming- 
ton  Seminary  for  Young  Ladies.  Edward,  the 
son  of  Noadiah,  used  the  old  dwelling  house 
as  a  schoolhouse  and  dormitory,  and  it  was 
known  then  and  afterward  as  the  "  old  red 
college."  His  son  Edward  writes  (I  quote 
from  Julius  Gay)  that  the  "  kitchen  was 
floored  with  smooth  flat  mountain  stones,  and 
had  a  big  door  at  the  eastern  end,  and  my 
father  used  to  say  that  when  his  father  was  a 
boy,  they  used  to  drive  a  yoke  of  oxen  with  a 
sled  load  of  wood  into  one  door  and  up  to  the 

2? 


FARMINGTON 

fireplace,  then  unload  the  wood  upon  the  fire, 
and  drive  the  team  out  of  the  other  door." 

In  looking  over  some  old  family  records 
while  preparing  this  account,  I  was  interested 
to  find  it  stated  regarding  a  strong  stone  house 
erected  in  Pennsylvania  in  1752  or  1753,  by 
my  great  grandfather,  and  still  standing  and 
occupied  by  "  The  Hill  School,"  "  There  was 
formerly  a  large  doorway  in  the  back  part  of 
the  house,  into  which  it  was  customary  to 
drive  a  cart  loaded  with  wood  to  supply  the 
kitchen  fire." 

The  erection  of  the  present  church  building 
was  begun  in  1771,  nearly  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  I  have  been 
told  that  most  of  the  shingles  upon  its  beauti- 
ful spire  are  those  originally  placed  upon  it 
at  the  time  of  its  completion  in  the  following 
year.  It  was  fitted  with  high  square  pews,  of 
which  those  in  the  gallery  were  removed  in 
the  winter  of  1825,  and  those  in  the  body  of 
the  house  in  1836.  The  paneling  of  these 
was  scattered,  a  portion  of  it  being  worked 
into  the  horsesheds  in  the  rear  of  the  church, 
where  it  can  still  be  descried.  The  pulpit 
seems  to  have  been  a  formidable  affair  with  a 
window  behind  it,  an  extinguisher  over  it,  and 
a  mysterious  door  beneath.  At  an  anniversary 
celebration  a  good  many  years  ago,  John 
Hooker  spoke  of  the  great  curtains  behind  the 
pulpit,  and  of  the  huge  sounding  board.  Pro- 

28 


FARMINGTON 

fessor  Denison  Olmsted  asked  what  had  be- 
come of  the  old  square  pews,  the  old  pulpit 
with  all  its  gorgeous  decorations,  the  carved 
work  that  adorned  the  pilasters  at  either  side 
of  the  pulpit  windows,  with  flowers  painted  of 
copper  green.  The  pulpit,  I  believe,  was 
made  so  high  and  formidable  looking,  in  part, 
in  order  that  the  minister  might  be  within 
easy  range  of  the  galleries.  John  Hooker  tells 
a  story — at  least  ben  trovato,  if  not  vero — of 
the  loud  preaching  from  a  similar  box-like 
pulpit,  which  led  a  little  girl  who  had  been 
taken  to  church  for  the  first  time,  to  ask  her 
mother  on  the  way  home,  "  Why  they  didn't 
let  that  man  out,  when  he  was  trying  so  hard 
to  get  out,  and  hollering  so."  President  Por- 
ter spoke  of  the  sounding  board  as  "  a  won- 
drous canopy  of  wood  with  a  roof  like  the 
dome  of  a  Turkish  mosque  " ;  Hon.  Francis 
Gillette  described  it  as  a  pear-shaped  canopy, 
with  a  stem  hardly  visible.  "  As  nearly  as  I 
can  recollect,"  said  he,  "  the  conclusion  to 
which  I  came  concerning  the  design  or  use  of 
the  wooden  avalanche,  was,  that  it  was  an  in- 
vention, not  to  help  the  preacher's  voice,  which 
needed  no  help,  but  to  hang  over  him  in  ter- 
ror em,  after  the  manner  of  the  sword  of 
Damocles,  to  fall  and  crush  him  should  he 
preach  any  false  doctrine." 

Of  the  other  peculiarity  of  the  pulpit,  Presi- 
dent Porter  says  "  there  opened  a  door  beneath 

29 


FARMINGTON 

the  pulpit  into  a  closet,  of  which  it  was  fabled 
that  it  was  reserved  by  the  tything  man  for 
boys  especially  unruly  in  behavior." 

That  such  a  myth  should  have  grown  up 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  With  what  seems 
to  us  at  this  day  a  fatuity  almost  inconceiv- 
able, the  boys  at  that  period  were  not  per- 
mitted to  sit  with  their  elders,  but  were 
herded  together  in  the  galleries,  the  effect  of 
which  arrangement  was  just  about  as  bad  as  it 
could  be.  It  was  to  correct  this  state  of 
things  that  the  square  pews  were  removed 
from  the  galleries  in  1825. 

The  pulpit  subsequently  disappeared,  but 
there  is  a  tradition  that  it  did  duty  during  its 
latter  days  as  a  chicken  coop.  What  became 
of  the  crown  which  formerly  graced  the  sum- 
mit of  the  spire  appears  to  be  wholly  unknown. 
Were  this  found,  it  would  be  a  treasure  in- 
deed. 

A  singular  arrangement  existed  in  the  man- 
agement of  the  church,  as  of  others  at  that 
time,  of  which  it  is  worth  while  to  make  men- 
tion. It  was  the  custom  from  time  to  time  to 
appoint  a  "  Seating  Committee."  The  func- 
tion of  this  committee  was  to  indicate  the 
social  and  religious  position  of  the  members 
of  the  church,  and  seat  them  accordingly. 
"In  1783,"  says  President  Porter,  "a  large 
committee  was  appointed  to  dignify  the  Meet- 
ing-house, that  is,  to  designate  and  arrange 

30 


FARMINGTON 

the  seats  according  to  their  relation  of  dignity, 
and  to  report.  Their  report  was  received  at 
a  subsequent  meeting,  and  a  Seating  Com- 
mittee was  immediately  appointed."  The  last: 
seating  took  place  in  1842.  Can  you  imagine 
the  heartburnings  which  must  sometimes  have 
arisen  from  the  decisions  of  such  a  committee, 
settling  definitely  and  without  effective  appeal 
the  rank  of  the  members  and  thus  their  so- 
cial standing,  outside  as  well  as  within  the 
church,  as  compared  with  that  of  their  fel- 
lows? 

It  was  cold  comfort  that  the  good  people 
had  within  the  sanctuary  at  certain  seasons  of 
the  year.  There  was  no  stove  to  heat  the 
church  until  1824,  and  such  alleviation  as  was 
to  be  had  was  obtained  from  foot  stoves  which 
the  worshipers  carried  with  them.  The 
struggle  over  the  introduction  of  stoves  into 
the  churches  was  one  which  did  not  meet  with 
immediate  success.  I  have  not  read,  I  think, 
a  detailed  account  of  the  proceedings  here,  but 
some  circumstances  connected  with  the  change 
in  the  neighboring  town  of  Litchfield  are  not 
without  interest.  This  change  took  place 
during  the  time  of  the  Rev.  Lyman  Beecher. 
Deacon  Trowbridge  had  been  induced  to  give 
up  his  opposition,  but  shook  his  head  "  as  he 
felt  the  heat  reflected  from  it,  and  gathered 
up  the  skirts  of  his  greatcoat  as  he  passed  "  it. 
The  chronicler  adds:  "But  when  the  editor 

31 


FARMINGTON 

of  the  village  paper,  Mr.  Bunce,  came  in 
— who  was  a  believer  in  stoves  in  churches — 
and  with  a  most  satisfactory  air  warmed  his 
hands  at  the  stove,  keeping  the  skirts  of  his 
greatcoat  carefully  between  his  knees,  we 
could  stand  it  no  longer,  but  dropped  invisible 
behind  the  breastwork.  .  .  .  But  the  climax 
of  the  whole  was  when  Mrs.  Peck  went 
out  in  the  middle  of  the  service."  It  is  said 
that  she  became  ill  and  fainted  from  the  heat. 
The  fact  is  that,  the  day  being  warm,  there 
was  no  fire  in  the  stove. 

Eccelesiastical  privileges  were  provided 
generously  in  those  days:  those  who  came  in 
the  morning  from  long  distances,  as  many  did, 
had  no  time  to  return  to  their  homes,  but  were 
accommodated  between  services  in  Sabbath  or 
Saba-day  houses,  erected  upon  the  green  about 
the  church.  The  music  of  the  church  was 
undergoing  a  change — in  fact,  in  this  and 
other  churches  it  had  been  undergoing  a 
change  for  sixty  or  eighty  years,  if  indeed  the 
period  of  change  does  not  still  continue,  which, 
from  remarks  that  I  occasionally  hear,  I  am 
led  to  suspect  is  the  case.  When  the  custom 
of  "  lining  out  "  the  hymns  was  given  up,  I  do 
not  know.  But  other  customs  which  were  in- 
troduced from  time  to  time  in  the  course  of 
musical  evolution  had  an  effect  even  more 
singular  than  the  lining  out.  Mrs.  Earle 
tells  of  the  ridiculous  result  produced  by  the 

32 


FARMINGTON 

repetition  of  words  in  Billings'  fugues,  which 
were  at  one  time  in  use.  "  Thus  the  words 

"  *  With  reverence  let  the  Saints  appear 
And  bow  before  the  Lord,' 

were  forced  to  be  sung  '  And  bow-wow-wow, 
And  bow-wow-wow/  and  so  on  until  bass, 
treble,  alto,  counter,  and  tenor  had  '  bow- 
wowed  '  for  about  twenty  seconds ;  yet,"  she 
adds,  "  I  doubt  if  the  simple  hearts  that  sang 
ever  saw  the  absurdity."  This  case  will 
doubtless  remind  you  of  Handel's  magnificent 
oratorio  of  the  Messiah,  with  its  perfectly 
credible  statement  of  fact  frequently  reit- 
erated, with  a  positiveness  which  seems  un- 
necessary, "  All  we  like  sheep." 

It  is  rather  strange  that  anything  so  har- 
monious as  music  should  awaken  contentions 
and  animosities,  but  such  seem  to  have  been 
almost  constantly  arising  in  the  churches,  and 
at  times  attained  an  incomprehensible  bitter- 
ness. 

The  singing  at  about  1720  appears  to  have 
been  both  leisurely  and  cacophonous.  Rev. 
Thomas  Walter  says,  "  I  myself  have  twice  in 
one  note  paused  to  take  breath.  ...  I  have 
observed  in  many  places,  one  man  is  upon  this 
note,  while  another  is  a  note  before  him, 
which  produces  something  so  hideous  and  dis- 
orderly as  is  beyond  expression  bad.  .  .  .  No 
two  men  in  the  congregation  quaver  alike,  or 

33 


FARMINGTON 

together;  which  sounds  in  the  ears  of  a  good 
judge,  like  five  hundred  different  tunes  roared 
out  at  the  same  time,  whose  perpetual  inter- 
ferings  with  one  another,  perplexed  jars  and 
unmeasured  periods,  would  make  a  man  won- 
der at  the  false  pleasure  which  they  conceive 
in  that  which  good  judges  of  music  and  sounds 
cannot  bear  to  hear." 

The  following  petition  will  indicate  the 
nature  of  the  controversy,  as  it  affected  our 
village  at  about  this  time: 

"  To  the  Honourable  ye  General  Assembly 
at  hartford  ye  i8th  of  May  1725.  the  me- 
morial of  Joseph  Hawley  one  of  ye  house  of 
Representatives  humbly  sheweth  your  Memo- 
rialist his  father  and  Grandfather  and  ye 
whole  Church  &  people  of  farmingtown  have 
used  to  worship  God  by  singing  psalms  to  his 
praise  In  yt  mode  called  ye  Old  way.  how- 
ever t'other  Day  Jonathan  Smith  &  one 
Stanly  Got  a  book  &  pretended  to  sing  more 
regularly  &  so  made  Great  disturbance  In  ye 
worship  of  God  for  ye  people  could  not  follow 
ye  mode  of  singing,  at  Length  t'was  moved 
to  ye  church  whither  to  admit  ye  new  way  or 
no,  who  agreed  to  suspend  it  at  least  for  a 
year,  yet  Deacon  hart  ye  Chorister  one  Sab- 
bath day  In  setting  ye  psalm  attempted  to  sing 
Bella  tune — and  yor  memorialist  being  used 
to  ye  old  way  as  aforesd  did  not  know  helium 
tune  from  pax  tune,  and  supposed  ye  deacon 

34 


FARMINGTON 

had  aimed  at  Cambridge  short  tune,  and  set 
it  wrong,  whereupon  yr  petitioner  Raised  his 
Voice  in  ye  sd  short  tune  &  ye  people  followed 
him,  except  ye  sd  Smith  &  Stanly,  &  ye  few 
who  Sang  allowed  In  bella  tune;  &  so  there 
was  an  unhappy  Discord  in  ye  singing,  as 
there  has  often  bin  since  ye  new  Singers  set 
up,  and  ye  Blame  was  all  Imputed  to  yor  poor 
petition  [er],  and  Jno  Hooker,  Esqr.,  assist- 
ant, sent  for  him,  &  fined  him  ye  igth  of 
Febry  Last  for  breach  of  Sabbath,  and  so  yor 
poor  petitionr  is  layed  under  a  very  heavie 
Scandal  &  Reproach  &  Rendered  vile  &  pro- 
phane  for  what  he  did  in  ye  fear  of  God  &  in 
ye  mode  he  had  bin  well  educated  in  and  was 
then  ye  setled  manner  of  Singing  by  ye 
agreemt  of  ye  Church. 

"  Now  yor  Petitionr  thinks  ye  Judgement  is 
erroneous,  first,  ye  fact  if  as  wicked  as  mr. 
hooker  supposed  Comes  under  ye  head  of  dis- 
turbing God's  worship,  and  not  ye  statute  of 
prophaning  ye  Sabbath:  Secondly,  because  no 
member  of  a  Lawfull  Church  Society  can  be 
punished  for  worshiping  God  In  ye  modes  & 
forms,  agreed  upon,  &  fixed  by  ye  Society: 
thirdly  because  tis  errors,  when  ye  Civill 
authority  sodenly  Interpose  between  partyes 
yt  differ  about  modes  of  worship,  &  force  one 
party  to  Submitt  to  ye  other,  till  all  milder 
methods  have  bin  used  to  Convince  mens' 
Consciences:  fourthly  because  tis  error  to 

35 


FARMINGTON 

make  a  Gent  of  yor  Petitionr  Carracter  a 
Scandalous  offender  upon  Record,  for  nothing 
but  a  present  mistake  at  most,  when  no 
morral  evil  is  intended. 

"  Wherefore  yor  poor  petitioner  prayes  you 
to  set  aside  ye  sd  Jud,  or  by  what  means  your 
honrs  please,  to  save  yor  poor  petitionr  from 
ye  Imputation  of  ye  heinous  Crime  Laid  to 
him,  &  yor  poor  petitionr  as  In  duty  &c.  shall 
ever  pray. 

"JOSEPH  HAWLEY." 

Billings  reformed  all  that,  and  this  is  what 
he  thought  as  to  the  success  of  his  f ugal  music : 
"It  has  more  than  twenty  times  the  power  of 
the  old  slow  tunes;  each  part  straining  for 
mastery  and  victory,  the  audience  entertained 
and  delighted,  their  minds  surpassingly 
agitated  and  extremely  fluctuated,  sometimes 
declaring  for  one  part,  and  sometimes  another. 
Now  the  solemn  bass  demands  their  attention, 
— next  the  manly  tenor;  now,  the  lofty  coun- 
ter,— now  the  volatile  treble.  Now  here — 
now  there — now  here  again.  O,  ecstatic! 
Rush  on,  ye  sons  of  harmony !  " 

But  it  was  the  reformation  of  Billings 
which  was  going  on  eighty  years  ago. 

A  change  which  took  place  in  the  church 
music  upon  the  formation  of  the  Handel 
Society  in  1818,  under  the  leadership  of  the 
unorthodox  but  universally  beloved  Dr. 

36 


FARMINGTON 

Todd,  who  led  the  choir  by  his  violin,  must 
have  been  most  satisfactory.  At  about  the 
same  time  the  'cello,  the  flute,  the  clarionet, 
and  the  bassoon  were  introduced. 

The  church  building,  furnishing  as  it  did 
the  only  large  room  in  the  village,  was  used 
for  a  great  variety  of  purposes.  Elections 
were  held  there,  and  public  meetings  of  all 
sorts.  The  various  exercises  connected  with 
the  village  academy  were  conducted  in  the 
church,  and  the  academy  was  not  parsimoni- 
ous as  to  time  allowance.  Edward  Hooker 
writes  in  his  journal  (the  MS.  of  which  Mr. 
John  Hooker  has  kindly  placed  at  my  dis- 
posal), under  date  of  Friday,  February  24, 
1826:  "Evening.  Attended  an  exhibition  of 
dramatic  pieces,  declamations,  etc.,  performed 
by  the  scholars  of  Mr.  Hart's  Academy  at 
the  Meeting-House.  A  great  concourse  of 
people  attended.  The  exercises  began  about 
five  &  continued  till  half  past  eleven."  A 
special  dispensation  must  have  been  obtained 
upon  this  occasion,  or  the  rules  must  have  been 
somewhat  relaxed  since  the  earlier  days  of  the 
century,  when,  as  Mr.  Gay  reports,  "  Gov- 
ernor Treadwell  fined  the  society  ladies  of  his 
day  because,  as  the  indictment  read,  '  They 
were  convened  in  company  with  others  at  the 
house  of  Nehemiah  Street,  and  refused  to  dis- 
perse until  after  nine  o'clock  at  night.'  " 

Governor  Treadwell  was  not  an  enthusiast 

37 


FARMINGTON 

in  favor  of  the  school  exhibitions.  They  were 
given  up  about  1800  as  calculated,  he  says, 
"  like  hot-beds  to  force  a  premature  growth 
for  ignorance  and  folly  to  stare  at."  They 
were  resumed  in  1823,  and  President  Porter 
says,  "  Dramas  were  more  than  once  enacted 
in  this  old  puritan  edifice  with  drop  curtains 
and  greenroom."  He  does  not  add  that  in 
1826,  probably  on  the  occasion  referred  to  by 
Edward  Hooker,  a  then  future  President  of 
Yale  College,  bearing  the  name  of  Porter, 
acted  thevpart  of  a  Frenchman  in  a  play  called 
"  The  Will,  or  the  power  of  Medicine,"  and 
that  in  the  following  year  "  Elijah  L.  Lewis 
[still  living  at  the  north  end  of  the  village] 
has  the  part  of  Philip  in  the  play  *  The  Cur- 
few/ in  which  N.  Porter  Jr.  is  a  robber  dis- 
guised as  a  Minstrel." 

In  the  Meeting-house  yard,  or  upon  the 
Green,  were  the  Sabbath-day  houses,  and  the 
Schoolhouse,  and  here  also,  even  so  late  as 
eighty  years  ago,  were  the  stocks  in  which 
offenders  were  occasionally  placed  to  be  stared 
and  perhaps  also  jeered  at.  I  fear  that  the 
whipping  post  and  the  pillory  had  not  de- 
parted long  before.  To  make  amends  for 
turbulent  behavior  at  other  times,  it  is  said 
that  "When  the  minister  or  a  stranger  entered 
the  school-house,  its  busy  inmates  rose  at  once 
to  their  feet.  As  either  approached  the  school- 
house  by  the  wayside,  the  School  children 

38 


FARMINGTON 

ceased  from  their  sports  and  arranged  them- 
selves in  ranks  to  give  a  pleasant  greeting  to 
the  passer  by." 

The  Meeting-house  yard  or  green  was  a 
gathering  place  also  when  the  weather  did  not 
forbid,  and  a  place  for  athletic  sports;  and 
military  companies  marched  and  counter- 
marched there.  "  The  consummation  of  the 
military  glory  of  the  village  was  reached  when 
it  could  boast  a  Major  General  whose  staff 
was  largely  made  up  from  its  wealthy  young 
men.  The  distinguished  white  horse  which 
the  General  rode  contributed  not  a  little  to 
the  glory  of  the  General  and  his  staff.  How- 
ever sober  and  prosaic  this  horse  might  seem 
during  most  of  the  months  of  several  of  his 
last  years,  he  never  failed  to  grow  young  and 
gay  as  the  autumnal  reviews  required  his 
services."  That  the  mixture  might  be  com- 
plete, President  Porter  adds  that  punch  and 
toddy  were  "  brewed  on  the  steps  and  at  the 
door  of  the  sanctuary,"  and  freely  distributed. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  subject  upon  which  there 
is  more  misrepresentation  to-day  by  those  who 
are  accounted  good  people,  than  that  of  the 
use  and  the  abuse  of  intoxicating  drinks.  If 
you  listen  to  an  enthusiast  upon  this  matter, 
you  might  be  led  to  believe  that  the  custom  is 
constantly  growing  from  bad  to  worse. 
Nothing  could  be  more  absolutely  false.  On 
the  contrary,  were  you  suddenly  to  be  placed 

39 


FARMINGTON 

in  this  village  upon  a  holiday  as  it  was  at  the 
period  of  which  I  am  speaking,  you  would  feel 
as  if  you  had  been  transferred  to  the  realm  of 
Bacchus  and  Silenus.  Egbert  Cowles  speaks 
euphemistically  of  the  imports  being  largely  of 
the  "  products  of  the  sugar  house,"  meaning  in 
a  measure  sugar  and  molasses,  but  more 
particularly  rum.  It  seemed  impossible  at 
any  time  in  the  eighteenth  century  to  erect  a 
church  without  an  adequate  allowance  of  rum, 
and  the  custom  took  long  in  dying.  Alice 
Morse  Earle  says,  "  In  Northampton,  in  1738, 
ten  gallons  of  rum  were  bought  for  £8  '  to 
raise  the  Meeting  house  ' — and  the  village 
doctor  got  £3  for  '  setting  his  bone  Jonathan 
Strong,'  and  £3.  IDS.  for  '  setting  Ebenezer 
Burt's  thy/  which  somehow  through  the  rum 
or  the  raising  both  gotten  broken."  "  Rev. 
Nathan  Strong,  pastor  of  the  first  Church  of 
Hartford,  and  author  of  the  hymn  '  Swell  the 
Anthem,  raise  the  song,7  was  engaged  in  the 
distilling  business,  and  did  not  make  a  success 
of  it  either." 

In  this  village  a  ten-gallon  keg,  or  a  thirty- 
gallon  cask  of  rum  was  not  an  unusual  supply 
to  sustain  the  labors  of  the  harvest  field. 
Liquors  were  kept  in  the  stores  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  they  seem  to  have  been  freely 
served  upon  all  occasions.  The  immediate 
consequences  may  readily  be  imagined,  and  the 
desolation  which  followed. 

40 


FARMINGTON 

As  in  all  the  experiences  of  life,  a  little 
humor  crops  out  now  and  then  to  make  things 
bearable.  There  was  one  Brownson,  or 
Bronson,  who  had  a  mill  at  the  south  end  of 
the  town.  Bronson  was  a  dyer,  a  spinner,  a 
weaver — in  fact,  he  seems  to  have  been  an 
adept  at  all  sorts  of  trades.  But  he  occa- 
sionally partook  of  the  products  of  the  sugar 
house,  and  upon  one  of  these  occasions  showed 
his  dissent  from  the  attitude  of  his  wife  by 
throwing  her  into  the  great  dye-kettle,  in  con- 
sequence of  which  experience  she  was  com- 
pelled to  absent  herself  from  public  gaze  for 
several  months.  Egbert  Cowles  says  that  a 
schoolgirl  wrote,  and  induced  one  of  the  boys 
to  post  upon  his  door,  this  epitaph: 

**  Here  lies  one,  and  he  was  human, 
He  lived  a  man,  but  dyed  a  woman." 

As  you  may  suppose,  there  was  thereafter  war 
to  the  knife  between  the  craftsman  and  his 
tormentors. 

It  seems  to  have  been  customary  both  in 
Connecticut  and  in  Massachusetts  to  have  an 
installation  ball  to  celebrate  the  induction  of 
a  new  pastor.  Such  a  ball  was  held  in 
Wadsworth's  tavern  at  the  time  of  the  instal- 
lation of  Dr.  Porter  in  1806;  the  Doctor, 
however,  I  believe  was  not  present. 

I  have  spent  much  time  upon  the  church 
and  its  immediate  environment,  but  this  is 

41 


FARMINGTON 

inevitable,  for,  formerly  at  least,  the  church 
was  the  center  of  the  life  of  every  Connecticut 
village.  It  was  a  God-fearing  people  that 
settled  these  towns,  but  if  the  truth  must  be 
told  they  appear  sometimes  to  have  feared  God 
more  than  was  actually  necessary,  and  oc- 
casionally tried  to  "  get  square  "  with  him 
when  he  was  supposed  not  to  be  looking. 

Though  not  adjoining  the  church,  as  is 
usually  or  often  the  case,  the  old  burying 
ground  seems  naturally  to  follow  with  its 
claim  for  attention.  I  will  only  transcribe 
one  of  the  curious  inscriptions  which  appear 
upon  the  stones,  though  many  of  them  are  well 
worthy  of  examination.  The  one  to  which  I 
refer  is  the  following,  which  is  inscribed  upon 
a  stone  erected  in  memory  of  a  citizen  of  the 
town  who  was  a  Tory  during  the  Revolu- 
tionary War:  "In  Memory  of  Mr.  Ma- 
thias  Learning,  who  hars  got  beyound  the 
reach  of  Parcecushion.  The  life  of  man  is 
vanity." 

Funerals,  and  they  seem  to  have  been  star- 
tlingly  numerous,  especially  during  an  epidemic 
of  spotted  fever  in  1808-9,  were  usually  held 
on  the  day  following  the  death.  When  so 
many  had  joined  the  majority  as  to  demand 
extended  space,  the  new  ground  was  opened 
down  near  the  river  on  the  site  of  an  old 
Indian  village  and  burying  ground.  There 
were  some  of  the  Tunxis  Indians  still  left  at 

42 


FARMINGTON 

the  time  of  which  I  speak,  living  not  far  from 
the  site  of  the  present  railroad  station.  They 
had  a  burying  ground  some  two  hundred  yards 
east  of  the  station,  where  several  commemora- 
tive stones  are  still  to  be  seen.  A  memorial 
column  was  erected  in  the  new  ground  to  the 
departed  race,  for  which  one  Lydia  Huntley, 
reared  in  the  Wadsworth  family,  and  who 
often  spent  her  time  with  the  branch  of  that 
family  in  Farmington,  wrote  a  few  stanzas 
which  have  been  inscribed  thereon,  beginning: 

'*  Chieftains  of  a  banished  race, 
In  your  ancient  burial  place 
By  your  fathers'  ashes  blest, 
Here  in  peace  securely  rest." 

I  am  compelled  to  say  that  her  name  would 
hardly  be  remembered  to  this  day,  if  Lydia 
Huntley  Sigourney  had  not  done  more 
worthily. 

Of  the  buildings  erected  during  the  early 
years  of  this  century,  several  were  of  consider- 
able size,  and  marked  the  growing  prosperity 
and  social  requirements  of  their  owners. 
They  are  of  various  styles  of  architecture,  or 
of  no  style,  and  marked  a  period  of  search 
after  variety  with  more  or  less  fortunate 
results,  according  to  circumstances.  Up  to 
this  time  I  suppose  that  the  various  styles  of 
building  were  in  order  about  as  follows:  first, 
the  structure  of  logs,  which  was  part  dwelling 

43 


FARMINGTON 

and  part  fort,  with  or  without  a  stone  chim- 
ney— in  the  early  days  one  of  a  group  sur- 
rounded by  a  stockade  as  a  defense  against  the 
Indians :  then  the  square  frame  house,  with  an 
enormous  chimney  stack  in  the  middle,  toward 
which  the  roof  sloped  from  all  the  four  sides: 
then  the  house  with  two  gables,  with  the  great 
chimney  still  in  the  center,  with  projecting 
front  said  to  have  been  designed  for  defense 
against  attacks  by  Indians,  and  long  lean-to 
roof  in  the  rear:  then  the  gambrel-roofed  cot- 
tage, and  more  pretentious  "  old  Colonial  " 
mansion,  a  building  of  much  dignity;  and 
finally,  about  the  first  of  this  century,  the 
more  or  less  classic  buildings,  with  broad  and 
imposing  pediments  and  high  columns,  Doric, 
Ionic,  Corinthian,  and  nondescript.  After 
that  the  deluge! 

The  most  considerable  of  these  buildings  is 
that  which  has  been  occupied  for  so  many  years 
as  the  principal  home  of  Miss  Porter's  famous 
seminary,  a  building  to  which  many  a  fond 
recollection  points  on  the  part  of  mothers  and 
daughters  in  all  quarters  of  the  Union.  I 
doubt  whether  there  is  another  upon  our  soil 
the  memory  of  which  is  so  fondly  cherished  by 
so  many,  for  such  a  reason.  One  by  one  a 
considerable  number  of  the  noted  residences 
of  old  have  also  been  appropriated  to  the  use 
of  this  little  community,  but  the  school  still 
continued  in  the  great  brick  building  over- 

44 


FARMINGTON 

grown  with  vines,  which  faces  the  New 
Britain  road  as  it  descends  the  hill.  This  was 
erected  for  a  hotel  in  the  twenties,  a  little 
later  than  the  period  of  which  I  am  mainly 
writing,  to  accommodate  the  vast  traveling 
public  that  was  to  be  brought  hither  by  way  of 
the  Farmington  Canal,  but  which,  alas !  never 
came.  It  succeeded  a  frame  tavern,  parts  of 
which,  or  of  the  structures  connected  with 
which,  still  survive  in  the  gymnasium  and  in 
the  Music  Cottage,  and  that  is  the  only  man- 
ner in  which,  as  a  hotel,  it  did  succeed. 

The  Canal — the  ill-fated  canal,  about 
which  so  many  bright  anticipations  were 
formed,  was  opened  gayly  in  1828.  Edward 
Hooker  writes :  "  Friday,  June  2Oth ;  very  fine 
weather.  A  multitude  of  people  collected 
this  afternoon  to  witness  the  launching  and 
sailing  of  the  first  canal  Boat  that  has  been 
seen  at  Farmington.  Everything  was  con- 
ducted well,  Bell  ringing,  cannon  firing,  and 
music  from  the  Phoenix  Band.  About  two 
hundred  gentlemen  and  ladies,  who  were 
previously  invited  &  furnished  with  tickets, 
sailed  to  and  over  the  aqueduct  &  back  again. 
The  boat  was  drawn  at  first  by  four  &  after- 
ward by  three  large  grey  horses,  handsomely 
decked,  and  rode  by  as  many  black  boys, 
dressed  in  white.  Crackers  &  cheese,  lemon- 
ade, wine,  etc.,  were  furnished  to  the  guests, 
and  the  musicians  performed  very  finely  on 

45 


FARMINGTON 

the  passage.  The  Boat  was  named  James 
Hillhouse  with  three  cheers  while  passing  the 
Aqueduct."  This  was,  as  I  have  said,  in 
1828;  in  1848,  the  Farmington  Canal  died, 
not  having  yet  attained  its  majority — I  fear 
unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung. 

The  present  aspect  of  Farmington  depends 
about  as  much  upon  its  trees  as  upon  its  build- 
ings. In  this  respect  we  must  believe  that  a 
momentous  change  has  occurred  since  the  time 
of  which  I  am  writing.  The  great  elm, 
nearly  opposite  the  Elm  Tree  Inn,  and  the 
tree  behind  the  Inn,  with  one  other  which 
died,  were  planted  in  1762,  one  hundred  and 
thirty-four  years  ago.  Tradition — I  know 
not  how  authentic — claims  that  a  large  elm, 
still  standing  in  a  yard  at  the  southern  end  of 
the  town,  was  planted  to  commemorate  the 
declaration  of  peace  with  Great  Britain  at 
the  termination  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  I 
am  forced  to  question  whether  there  is  any 
other  tree  now  standing  within  the  village 
which  was  planted  much  more  than  eighty 
years  since.  If  there  be,  it  must  have  been 
extremely  young  at  the  period  in  question. 
What  must  we  think  of  in  place  of  those  with 
which  we  are  now  familiar?  Of  the  Lom- 
bardy  poplars,  of  all  trees  in  the  world! 
There  was  a  row  of  Lombardy  poplars  close 
around  the  church,  and  there  was  a  double 
row  along  the  path  to  the  street;  Lombardy 

46 


FARMINGTON 

poplars  were  planted  around  the  green,  "  they 
lined  the  village  street  and  were  planted  in 
double  rows  through  the  cemetery." 

How  far  these  were  used  throughout  the 
village,  it  is  impossible  now  to  say, — probably 
only  here  and  there,  but  fashion  is  very  strong, 
and  we  know  what  a  fashion  there  was  at  one 
time  for  these  trees.  I  have  found  traces  of 
them  here  and  there,  and  especially  may  men- 
tion those  in  the  school  grounds  near  the  west 
corner,  some  now  standing  along  my  fence  on 
the  ledge  near  Sunset  Rock,  and  others  along 
the  next  fence  to  the  eastward.  Think  what 
the  village  must  have  been  as  compared  with 
the  village  of  the  present,  if  this  were  the 
characteristic  tree,  even  to  a  moderate  extent! 
It  calls  to  mind  the  dialogue  in  our  old  read- 
ing books,  wherein  the  Macedonian  says, 
"  Art  thou  the  Thracian  robber  of  whose 
exploits  I  have  heard  so  much  ?  "  because  of 
the  startling  nature  of  the  suggested  com- 
parison with  which  it  ends :  "  Alexander  to  a 
robber!  Let  me  reflect." 

It  was  in  this  village  in  1810  and  in  the 
parlors  of  Rev.  Dr.  Porter,  that  there  was 
organized  that  body  destined  to  become 
famous  as  the  A.  B.  C.  F.  M. — or  the  Ameri- 
can Board  of  Commissioners  for  Foreign  Mis- 
sions, and  Governor  Treadwell  was  its  first 
President.  It  is  not  the  least  important  cir- 
cumstance connected  with  this  organization 

47 


FARMINGTON 

that,  by  a  kind  or  an  unkind  fate,  it  within 
recent  years  became  the  scene  of  a  contest 
between  the  old  and  the  new  theologies,  sure 
to  have  an  important  bearing  upon  the  future 
thought  and  faith  of  the  world. 

What  were  the  life  and  manners  of  the  time 
of  which  I  write — of  the  Farmington  of  eighty 
years  ago? 

It  is  impossible  to  make  a  finished  picture; 
we  must  be  satisfied  with  a  line  here  and  a  line 
there.  There  must  have  been  something 
striking  in  the  aspect  of  the  place,  at  least  to 
the  childish  eye.  Elihu  Burritt,  once  known 
as  "the  Learned  Blacksmith,"  said  in  1872: 
"  When  I  made  my  first  journey  to  Farming- 
ton,  I  stepped  off  the  whole  distance  (from 
New  Britain,  '  ye  Great  Swamp/  as  it 
was  then  called)  with  a  pair  of  legs  not  much 
longer  than  those  of  a  carpenter's  compass.  .  . 
After  the  longest  walk  I  had  ever  made  on 
my  small  bare  feet,  we  came  suddenly  upon 
the  view  of  this  glorious  valley,  and  of  the 
largest  city  I  had  ever  conceived  of.  I  was 
smitten  with  wonder.  I  dared  not  go  any 
farther,  though  urged  by  my  older  brothers. 
I  clambered  up  the  Sunset  Rock  and  sitting 
down  on  the  edge  with  my  feet  over  the  side 
looked  off  upon  the  scene  with  a  feeling  like 
that  of  a  man  first  coming  in  view  of  Rome 
and  its  St.  Peter's.  I  had  never  before  seen 
a  church  with  a  steeple,  and  measuring  this 


FARMINGTON 

above  us  with  a  child's  eye,  it  seemed  to  reach 
into  the  very  heavens." 

The  rural  surroundings  do  not  appear  to 
have  affected  all  at  that  time  as  they  do  most 
of  us  to-day.  Edward  Hooker  says  in  his 
journal  (January  12,  1809),  "Could  not 
avoid  being  at  the  windows  to  gaze  at  and 
admire  the  mountains  all  around  the  town, 
especially  the  North  Mountain  near  our 
friend  Col.  Norton's,  about  3  or  4  miles  off. 
I  thought  the  prospect  from  my  father's  a 
charming  one.  My  mother  wondered  at  my 
curiosity,  and  said  that  range  of  ugly,  broken, 
barren  mountains  was  by  no  means  a  grateful 
object  for  her  sight,  but  rather  the  reverse. 
She  could  see  in  it  nothing  to  admire,  nothing 
calculated  to  attract  the  attention." 

The  old  life  was  in  many  ways  a  hard  one 
both  for  men  and  women,  but  I  imagine  that 
the  women  had  the  worst  of  it.  There  were 
few  servants  excepting  menservants,  and  few 
of  these  were  engaged  in  domestic  labor. 
There  were  some  negro  slaves,  one  of  whom 
was  emancipated  in  1816,  as  the  following 
document  shows:  "Whereas,  on  application 
made  by  me,  Joshua  Youngs,  of  Farmington 
in  the  County  of  Hartford,  to  one  of  the  Civil 
Authority,  and  two  of  the  Selectmen  of  said 
Farmington,  they  have  signed  a  certificate  that 
*  Titus/  a  black  man,  now  or  late  my  slave, 
is  in  good  health  and  is  not  of  greater  age  than 

49 


FARMINGTON 

forty-five  years,  nor  less  age  than  twenty-five 
years,  and  upon  examination  of  said  Titus 
they  are  convinced  that  he  is  desirous  of  being 
made  free.  Therefore  be  it  known  to  all 
whom  it  may  concern,  that  I  have  and  hereby 
do  completely  emancipate  and  set  at  liberty 
the  said  Titus,  so  that  neither  I  nor  any  claim- 
ing under  me  shall  hereafter  have  any  right 
whatever  to  his  services  in  virtue  of  his  being 
my  slave. 

"  Done  at  Farmington  this  loth  day  of 
January,  A.  D.  1816, 

"  JOSHUA  YOUNGS, 

"  In  presence  of  JOHN  Mix,  SAMUEL  COWLS, 

"JOHN  Mix, 
"  Register." 

There  were  still  slaves  in  Connecticut  in 
1840,  and  in  New  Jersey  there  were  said  to  be 
eighteen  slaves  remaining  in  1860,  the  year 
before  the  War  of  the  Rebellion. 

A  girl  seated  at  a  flax  wheel,  spinning  in 
the  open  air  when  the  weather  was  fine,  you 
may  well  suppose  was  a  pretty  sight,  and  no 
young  girl  need  think  the  portion  of  her  day 
so  spent  very  hardly  employed.  She  might 
not  be  able  to  sing  with  Senta  the  music  of 
the  "  Flying  Dutchman,"  but  she  had  her  own 
familiar  music,  and  I  warrant  you  she  made 
her  account  of  it.  Then  there  were  the  weav- 
ing and  the  bleaching  and  the  making  of  the 
garments  both  for  themselves  and  for  the  men- 

50 


FARMINGTON 

folk.  The  knitting  of  stockings  was  never 
ended.  I  believe  that  no  young  woman  was 
ready  to  be  married  until  she  had  a  pillowcase- 
ful  of  stockings,  and  could  sweep  the  hearth 
without  moving  the  andirons.  Then  there 
were  the  washing  and  the  ironing.  A  great 
wash  boiler  hung  from  a  crane  in  the  huge 
kitchen  fireplace  for  weekly  use,  and  from 
the  same  crane  by  pothooks  and  trammels 
hung  the  various  brass  or  iron  vessels  which 
were  used  in  the  cooking.  The  meats  were 
roasted  before  the  fire  on  a  spit,  or  in  a  tin  or 
iron  Dutch  oven,  as  it  was  called.  Opening 
from  the  kitchen  was  the  dome  of  the  great 
brick  oven  in  which  bread  and  pies  were 
baked.  I  believe  that  one  still  remains,  open- 
ing from  the  Reading  room  of  the  Elm  Tree 
Inn,  and  there  are  doubtless  many  others  in 
the  village.  In  this  oven  a  great  fire  was 
built,  and  when  the  bricks  had  become 
thoroughly  heated  the  fire  was  drawn,  the 
oven  was  swept  out,  and  the  articles  to  be 
baked  were  put  in  place. 

Then  candles  must  be  dipped  or  molded, 
but  molding  was  a  late  refinement.  The 
dipping  was  done  by  tying  a  number  of  wicks 
at  intervals  along  a  stick  and  lowering  them 
repeatedly  into  the  melted  tallow,  until 
enough  had  adhered  to  give  sufficient  thick- 
ness. The  fat  not  used  for  candles,  and  the 
ashes  from  the  hearth,  must  be  saved  and  em- 

51 


FARMINGTON 

ployed  in  making  the  barrels  of  soft  soap,  of 
which  a  free  use  was  needed  to  keep  the  house 
as  sweet  and  clean  as  the  accomplished  house- 
wife required. 

There  was  chinaware  for  the  table,  the 
real  thing,  as  I  have  said,  in  some  houses,  but 
this  was  not  general,  and  it  was  kept  for 
special  occasions.  For  ordinary  purposes 
there  were  stoneware  and  earthenware,  a 
substantial  white  ware  being  used  on  the 
table,  I  believe,  for  the  most  part,  then  as 
now.  There  was  doubtless  also  more  or  less 
use  of  pewter  vessels.  Even  as  late  as  my 
own  childhood,  I  remember  that  at  the  board- 
ing school  in  Pennsylvania  where  I  learned 
small  Latin  and  no  Greek  at  all,  our  milk  and 
our  coffee  were  served  in  large  heavy  pewter 
porringers,  without  handles. 

There  was  also  some  silverware  upon  the 
tables  of  well-to-do  families:  this,  too,  was 
the  real  thing:  triple  and  quadruple  plate  had 
not  then  taken  possession  of  all  households. 
But  there  were  no  silver  forks,  either  real  or 
plated.  The  forks  were  of  sharp  steel,  and 
two-tined  at  that;  I  remember  when  we  had 
no  other.  There  is  an  apocryphal  story  that 
at  one  time  fashion  required  that  soup  should 
be  taken  with  a  fork,  as  within  recent  years 
it  has  been  decreed  in  regard  to  ice  cream.  If 
this  were  so  in  the  days  of  the  two-tined  steel 
fork,  we  must  believe  that,  in  those  days  at 

52 


FARMINGTON 

least,  patience  was  permitted  to  have  her  per- 
fect work.  Merely  the  chasing  of  peas  was 
attended  with  all  the  interest  and  excitement 
of  fox-hunting. 

The  clothing  of  the  women  was  for  the 
most  part  of  various  woolen  fabrics  and  of 
ginghams,  calicos,  cambrics,  and  muslins;  the 
cotton  goods  were  just  coming  freely  into  use: 
that  of  the  men  was  usually  of  homespun  wool 
and  of  leather,  though  the  latter  was  becom- 
ing less  usual.  Nankeens  were  also  brought 
from  China,  and  doubtless  used  by  both  men 
and  women.  There  were  ten  times  as  many 
sheep  in  the  county  in  1810  as  in  1880.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  there  were  a  hun- 
dred times  as  many  as  there  are  now.  Per- 
haps this  is  not  singular  if  many  of  the  sheep 
of  the  early  days  were  similar  to  the  bipedal 
one  of  which  Edward  Hooker  speaks  on  April 
25,  1818:  "Among  a  flock  of  sheep  on  the 
road  in  Cheshire,  we  saw  a  lamb  whose  hind 
legs  were  short  &  blunt  below  the  hams,  as  if 
they  had  been  frozen  and  lost  their  powers,  & 
strange  as  is  the  fact  he  was  actually  walking 
about  on  his  two  fore-legs  solely — except  that 
occasionally  he  seemed  to  balance  himself  and 
rest  a  little  on  his  hind  stumps."  Or  if  they 
were  ordinarily  such  good  electrical  attrac- 
tions as  some  in  1822,  of  which  Mr.  Hooker 
also  writes  (July  24)  :  "  There  were  heavy 
thunder  showers  at  night.  A  flock  of  sheep, 

S3 


FARMINGTON 

forty-three  in  number,  of  which  about  half 
were  very  valuable  merinos,  belonging  to  my 
friend  Egbert  Cowles  were  killed  by  light- 
ning— they  were  lying  close  together  under  a 
large  tree." 

While  there  was  much,  and  often  constant 
work  to  be  done,  there  was  also  recreation. 
All,  even  the  young  ladies,  discussed  theology, 
somewhat  hotly  occasionally,  but  nevertheless 
they  were  able  to  dance  and  engage  in  other 
exercises  of  a  frivolous  character.  This  was 
always  so,  but  undoubtedly  the  epoch  under 
notice  was  in  some  respects  one  of  special 
levity.  President  Porter  says  of  the  end  of 
the  century :  "  The  old  Meeting-house  began 
to  rustle  with  silks,  and  to  be  gay  with  rib- 
bons. The  lawyers  wore  silk  and  velvet 
breeches;  broadcloth  took  the  place  of  home- 
spun for  coat  and  overcoat,  and  corduroy  dis- 
placed leather  for  breeches  and  pantaloons. 
As  the  next  century  opened,  pianos  were  heard 
in  the  best  houses,  thundering  out  the  '  Battle 
of  Prague '  as  a  tour  de  force,  and  the  most 
pretentious  of  phaetons  rolled  through  the 
village.  Houses  were  built  with  dancing 
halls  for  evening  gayety;  and  the  most  liberal 
hospitality,  recommended  by  the  best  of 
cookery,  was  dispensed  at  sumptuous  dinners 
and  suppers." 

When  it  came  to  imported  cloths,  a  good 
round  payment  was  in  order.  E.  D.  Mans- 

54 


FARMINGTON 

field,  who  was  a  pupil  of  Edward  Hooker, 
in  1819,  in  his  "Personal  Recollections" 
describes  his  own  suit  as  of  bright  blue  broad- 
cloth at  $14  per  yard,  with  bright  gilt  but- 
tons. He  saw  two  or  three  gentlemen  about 
this  time  in  Connecticut  (he  does  not  say  in 
Farmington,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  he 
could  have  seen  such  there)  "  dressed  in  the 
revolutionary  style,  with  powdered  hair,  white 
top-boots,  silk  breeches  and  silver  knee 
buckles."  I  myself  remember  two  gentlemen 
in  Pennsylvania,  one,  among  my  earliest  recol- 
lections in  the  forties,  and  one  some  ten  years 
later,  who  always  dressed  in  substantially  the 
same  style. 

Speaking  of  the  church,  Mansfield  says, 
"  but  I  must  say  that  in  the  service  the  chief 
objects  of  my  devotion  were  the  bright  and 
handsome  girls  around."  Strange  to  relate, 
this  was  some  twenty-five  years  before  the 
Farmington  Seminary  was  started.  His  first 
introduction  to  society  here  was  at  the  house 
of  the  Hon.  Timothy  Pitkin.  There  were 
present  five  young  men  and  eighteen  young 
ladies,  more  than  half  of  whom  were  named 
Cowles.  It  is  said  that  there  were  three 
hundred  persons  of  that  name  in  the  town. 
It  was  with  these  young  men,  perhaps, 
even  more  than  it  is  in  our  own  day,  as  it 
was  with  the  Light  Brigade;  Cowles  to  the 
right  of  them,  Cowles  to  the  left  of  them, 

55 


FARMINGTON 

Cowles  in  the  front  of  them:  always  outnum- 
bered. 

Mansfield  says  that  it  was  not  customary 
for  the  older  people  to  appear  at  the  young 
people's  parties. 

One  of  the  diversions  indulged  in  largely  a 
few  years  earlier  may  possibly  not  have  been 
continued  to  this  day — that  is,  the  smallpox 
party.  Before  the  efficacy  of  vaccination  was 
discovered  it  was  customary  to  inoculate  with 
the  smallpox  at  isolated  buildings,  where 
patients  would  have  every  possible  attention. 
Such  a  building  stood  some  three  miles  from 
here,  near  the  old  road  to  New  Britain,  to  the 
eastward  of  Rattlesnake  Mountain,  and  was 
used  during  the  last  decade  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  Near  by  is  a  flat  rock  upon  which 
can  still  be  seen  rudely  carved  the  names  of  a 
large  number  of  the  convalescing  patients. 
Mrs.  Earle  quotes  this  singular  letter  of  1775 : 
"  Mrs.  Storer  has  invited  Mrs.  Martin  to 
take  the  small  pox  in  her  house;  if  Mrs. 
Wentworth  desires  to  get  rid  of  her  fears  in 
the  same  way  we  will  accomodate  her  in  the 
best  way  we  can.  I've  several  friends  that 
I've  invited,  and  none  of  them  will  be  more 
welcome  than  Mrs.  Wentworth." 

Though  wheeled  vehicles  seem  to  have  been 
in  common  use,  the  saddle  was  still  preferred 
by  many,  and  the  pillion  had  not  long,  if  in- 
deed it  had  yet  wholly,  fallen  into  disuse. 

56 


FARMINGTON 

Thanksgiving  Day  was  the  great  festival 
of  the  year.  In  fifteen  years  of  Edward 
Hooker's  journal,  I  do  not  find  the  slightest 
allusion  to  Christmas.  The  first  mention  of 
it  (this  in  connection  with  a  sermon)  is  in 
1825.  But  Sunday,  or  the  Sabbath,  they  had 
always  with  them — that  is,  from  sundown  on 
Saturday  night  until  sundown  on  Sunday 
night.  Serious  dissipation  upon  Sunday  did 
not  go  unchallenged.  Thus  Edward  Hooker 
says  in  1809,  January  23;  "The  Captain 
[Porter]  entertained  me  with  a  history  of  my 
classmate  Champion's  arrest  &  trial  for  travel- 
ing in  the  mail  stage  on  Sunday." 

In  the  evening  the  situation  was  different. 
The  village  has  been  well  supplied  with 
libraries  in  its  time.  The  meeting  for  the 
drawing  of  books  and  for  discussion  of  various 
subjects  was  on  the  first  Sunday  evening  of 
the  month,  but  Mr.  Gay  seems  to  imply  that 
it  was  especially  the  elders  who  attended  upon 
that  occasion,  while  the  boys  and  girls  re- 
mained at  home  for  quiet  games,  and  the  older 
youth  possibly  indulged  in  moderation  in  that 
occupation  which  in  the  rural  districts,  in  my 
early  days,  I  have  heard  denominated  spark- 
ing. 

It  appears  that  Sunday  evening  was  also  the 
favorite  time  for  weddings.  I  find  constant 
allusion  to  such  occasions,  of  which  here  is  one 
from  Mr.  Hooker's  journal:  "  Sunday  Dec. 

57 


FARMINGTON 

29  [1811].  Clear  and  Cold.  Evening; 
Agreeably  to  invitation  attended  the  wedding 
of  R.  Cowles  &  Fanny  Deming  at  Mr. 
Deming's.  Large  concourse  of  relations  and 
friends  present,  perhaps  sixty — not  much 
ceremony.  The  parties  were  seated  in  the 
room  when  the  company  arrived.  None  stood 
up  with  them — but  Mr.  Camp  and  Caroline 
sat  near  them  and  after  the  ceremony  handed 
round  two  courses  of  cake,  three  of  wine,  and 
one  of  apples.  The  company  in  the  different 
rooms  then  conversed  half  an  hour — then 
those  who  could  sing  collected  and  sung  very 
handsomely  a  number  of  psalm  tunes, — and 
half  an  hour  after  had  quite  a  merry  cushion 
dance.  I  came  away  about  9  leaving  still  a 
large  number  capering  round  the  cushion." 

What  a  "  Cushion  dance  "  is,  or  was,  I  will 
not  undertake  to  say. 

I  have  said  that  these  were  prosperous 
times.  When  Chauncey  Deming  died,  he 
was  estimated  to  be  worth  two  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars,  a  fortune  probably  equivalent  to 
one  of  five  or  ten  millions  to-day.  Mr. 
Deming  was  a  rich  man,  but  had  he  possessed 
ten  millions,  he  would  have  been  forced  to 
remain  without  comforts -and  luxuries  which 
are  now  the  daily  privilege  of  the  ordinary 
clerk  or  thrifty  mechanic.  There  was  no 
railroad,  no  telegraph,  no  telephone.  There 
was  no  electric  light,  no  gas,  no  kerosene — 

58 


FARMINGTON 

not  even,  I  am  told,  to  any  considerable 
extent,  the  malodorous  whale  oil  of  my  early 
days.  There  were  no  water  works,  with 
pipes  running  through  the  house;  there  was 
usually  no  water  in  the  bedroom,  but  ordinary 
ablutions  were  performed  beside  the  kitchen 
pump  or  in  the  washhouse,  in  water  direct 
from  the  well.  I  have  been  told  of  one 
fortunate  family  (Dr.  Porter's)  which  had  a 
terrace  wall  in  its  garden,  of  which  advantage 
was  taken  to  install  a  shower  bath  by  building 
a  shelter  at  the  foot,  and  letting  on  an  infant 
deluge  at  the  top.  There  were  no  stoves,  or 
there  were  only  isolated  specimens,  in  the  dead 
of  winter  no  warm  chambers,  for  the  fuel  was 
wood  and  the  fires  were  ordinarily  confined 
to  the  hearths  in  the  keeping  room  and  the 
kitchen,  where  the  inmates  were  liable  to  bake 
upon  one  side  and  to  freeze  upon  the  other. 
The  warming  pan  was  a  blessed  contrivance 
by  which,  in  case  of  necessity,  a  little  suggestion 
of  the  tropics  could  be  imparted  to  the  icy 
sheets.  Edward  Hooker  tells  of  one  terrific 
spell  when  he  found  it  impossible  to  sleep  for 
the  bitter  cold.  Twenty-five  cords  of  wood, 
which  would  be  equal  to  a  body  four  feet 
wide,  four  feet  high,  and  two  hundred  feet 
long,  were,  I  believe,  considered  a  fair  win- 
ter's supply  for  a  household. 

It  is  a  tradition  in  my  family,  which  appears 
to  be  supported  at  least  in  part  by  documen- 

59 


FARMINGTON 

tary  evidence,  and  which  I  like  to  encourage, 
that  anthracite  coal  was  discovered  in  Penn- 
sylvania, in  1783  or  1784,  by  my  grandfather's 
brother.  Dr.  Franklin,  David  Rittenhouse 
the  astronomer,  and  others  were  interested  in 
his  enterprise,  but  no  method  of  using  the 
coal  was  devised  for  many  years.  In  1812, 
Colonel  George  Shoemaker  took  nine  wagon- 
loads  of  coal  to  Philadelphia:  "he  sold  two 
loads  and  gave  the  rest  away,  and  some  of  the 
purchasers  obtained  a  writ  for  his  arrest  as  an 
impostor  and  a  swindler." 

To  me,  this  foray  into  the  past  has  been 
like  crossing  a  river  into  a  new  land  and 
making  friends  with  a  host  of  new  people.  I 
find  these  houses  tenanted  and  these  paths 
trodden  by  a  varied  multitude  to  whom  here- 
after they  will  still  belong,  of  many  of  whom, 
of  their  true  selves,  of  their  characters  and 
their  thoughts,  I  know  more  than  I  know  of 
most  of  those  now  living  about  me.  I  see  the 
venerable  Dr.  Porter,  still  a  young  man, 
active,  zealous,  and  beloved:  I  see  Judge 
Whitman,  and  listen  to  his  discourse  upon 
precedents,  and  upon  old  saws  and  modern 
instances.  I  see  the  dignified  Governor 
Treadwell,  sturdy,  though  weighted  with  the 
responsibility  of  many  and  important  causes, 
severe,  yet  meaning  to  be  just:  I  listen  to 
Major  Hooker  as  he  tells  his  more  or  less 

60 


FARMINGTON 

clearly  remembered  reminiscences  of  the  old 
times,  and  of  that  which  he  had  heard  from 
the  fathers  who  were  before  him:  I  see  the 
spruce  and  prosperous  Timothy  Cowles,  or 
hear  the  wealthy  Chauncey  Deming  cantering 
along  the  street  or  laying  down  the  rule  as  to 
the  proper  income  for  a  minister  ojf  the  gospel : 
I  take  note  of  the  experiences  of  the  practical 
Squire  Mix:  I  appear  to  approach  the  foun- 
tain head  of  legislative  wisdom  as  I  learn  of 
the  debates  in  Congress  fresh  from  the  lips  of 
the  Hon.  Timothy  Pitkin:  above  all,  I  listen 
to  the  very  human  and  lovable,  though  not 
ecclesiastically  regular  Dr.  Todd,  as  he  drops 
words  of  wisdom  and  kindness,  or  draws  from 
the  strings  of  his  violin  echoes  of  that  music 
of  which  his  heart  is  full.  And  dozens  of 
others  rise  before  me,  men  and  women  both, 
who  will  forever  people  these  shady  ways 
along  which  they  passed  so  often. 

Not  that  all,  even  then,  were  to  be  counted 
among  the  sheep,  and  dignified  and  deb- 
onair. They  had  their  goats  then  as  now, 
and  their  Philistines.  And  they  had  their 
dramas  too,  their  comedies  and  their  tragedies : 
their  tragedies  which  were  such  to  all  the 
world,  and  those  deeper  tragedies  which  pass 
behind  closed  doors,  and  within  aching  hearts, 
which  dull  the  light  of  the  sun  and  obliterate 
the  stars,  and  take  the  glory  from  the  spring, 
and  wither  the  life  of  the  soul;  tragedies 

61 


FARMINGTON 

which  must  now  be  passed  by  with  averted 
eyes,  or  lightly  touched,  because  those  survive 
whose  nerves  still  respond  to  them  with  a 
personal  thrill. 

Of  course  it  was  a  period  when  the  world 
was  losing  its  virtue,  its  industry,  and  its 
earnestness:  all  periods  are  such.  Governor 
Treadwell  writes:  "The  young  ladies  are 
changing  their  spinning  wheels  for  forte- 
pianos  and  forming  their  manners  at  the  danc- 
ing school  rather  than  in  the  school  of  indus- 
try. Labor  is  growing  into  disrepute,  and  the 
time  when  the  independent  farmer  and 
reputable  citizen  could  whistle  at  the  tail  of 
his  plough  with  as  much  serenity  as  the 
cobbler  over  his  last,  is  fast  drawing  to  a 
close.  The  present  time  marks  a  revolution 
of  taste  and  manners  of  immense  import  to 
society,  but  while  others  glory  in  this  as  a 
great  advancement  in  refinement,  we  cannot 
help  dropping  a  tear  at  the  close  of  the  Golden 
Age  of  our  ancestors,  while  with  a  pensive 
pleasure  we  reflect  on  the  past,  and  with  sus- 
pense and  apprehension  anticipate  the  future." 

We  can  imagine  with  what  satisfaction  he 
penned  and  conned  over  these  smoothly  flow- 
ing periods.  "  Behold  we  are  the  people,  and 
wisdom  will  die  with  us."  I  am  not  sure  but 
that  I  have  heard  some  such  vaticination  as 
the  foregoing  at  other  times,  and  in  other 
places:  even  the  air  at  Underledge  seems  at 

62 


FARMINGTON 

intervals  to  bear  a  burden  in  like  minor  key. 
It  is  a  good  many  thousand  years  since  this 
note  first  breathed  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air. 
I  imagine  that  as  the  sun  drifts  to  the  west- 
ward with  us,  the  shadows  lengthen  and 
become  somewhat  distorted  and  slightly 
grotesque,  and  we,  whoever  we  may  be,  upon 
whom  its  rays  fall,  are  apt  to  look  back  upon 
the  time  when  it  was  in  the  meridian,  as  to  the 
golden  age. 

"  Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers,  and  I  linger  on  the 

shore, 
And  the  individual  withers,  and  the  world  is  more  and  more. 

"  Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers,  and  he  bears  a  laden 

breast, 
Full  of  sad  experience,  moving  toward  the  stillness  of  his  rest. 

"  Yet  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose 

runs, 

And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of 
the  suns.'* 

Aye,  though  looking  back  upon  those  early 
days  we  see  men  of  a  sturdy  race,  strong  men, 
and  faithful  men,  and  true  men,  eminently 
fitted  to  cope  with  the  labors  of  their  time; 
while  we  see  dignity  and  honor  meeting  with 
their  fair  acceptance  and  respect,  we  also  see 
another  sort,  of  which  our  eyes  are  not 
enamored:  if  we  see  courtliness  and  comeli- 
ness, we  see  also  grossness  in  family  circles 
where  to-day  such  exhibitions  would  be  looked 

63 


FARMINGTON 

upon  as  an  almost  unheard  of  and  an  unspeak- 
able calamity.  There  are  some  things  the 
loss  of  which  we  regret;  but  we  cannot  but 
remember  that  the  setting  sun  bathes  with 
glory  even  the  most  ragged  rocks,  and  that  the 
light  which  we  see  when  we  turn  to  look  be- 
hind us  is  but  the  reflection  of  that  great 
beacon  which  ever  gleams  before.  Tempora 
mutantur,  et  nos  mutamur  in  illis:  the  times 
change  and  we  change  in  them.  And  it  may 
well  be  that  neither  they  nor  we  are  neces- 
sarily worse,  simply  because  different. 
And  so  I  know  that  I  was  wiser 

"  When  I  dipt  into  the  future  far  as  human  eye  could  see; 
Saw  the  vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonder  that  would 
be. 

"  Not  in  vain  the  distance  beacons.     Forward,  forward  let  us 

range, 

Let  the  great  world  spin  forever  down  the  ringing  grooves  of 
change.'* 


IV 

UNDERLEDGE 

IN  summer-time  the  "  Hanger  "  masks  the 
ledge  completely.     In  the  winter  season, 
when  the  trees  are  bare,  I  see  between 
their  trunks  the  slope  with  its  jutting 
crags    and    at    the    top    the    straggling    and 
broken  rail  fence,  mended  with  savage  barbed 
wire,   with   which   my   neighbor   assumes   to 
guard  me  from  the  intrusion  of  the  cows:  an 
ineffective  attempt,   for   these  athletic  beasts 
fleer  at  fences,  as  love  laughs  at  locksmiths. 

Upon  the  slope  of  the  mountain  meadow 
twelve  or  fifteen  rods  in  front  of  the  "  bluff 
rock,"  as  it  is  known  in  the  old  records,  stands 
the  new  cottage.  I  have  heard  of  people  who 
were  said  to  have  been  born  old.  I  can 
scarcely  think  that  they  can  have  been  wholly 
agreeable,  but  with  cottages  it  is  otherwise, 
and  in  the  devising  and  building  of  Under- 
ledge  I  have  sought — honestly,  and  without 
subterfuge — to  make  a  home  which,  being  in 
the  style  of  the  previous  century,  will  take  but 
a  little  seasoning  by  rain  and  wind  and  sun  to 
prove  its  right  to  its  location.  And  I  think 
that  I  have  achieved  a  thorough  success.  For 

65 


UNDERLEDGE 

anything  in  the  appearance  of  the  heavy  stone 
walls,  they  might  have  been  standing  at  the 
time,  and  have  echoed  back  that  "  shot  heard 
round  the  world "  on  the  ever  memorable 
nineteenth  of  April,  1775,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  fratricidal  shots  heard  at  Baltimore  on 
that  other  nineteenth  of  April,  1861.  Above 
the  walls,  the  red  cedar  shingles  from  far 
Oregon  still  retain  a  certain  rawness;  their 
rich  color  has  disappeared  with  the  rain  drops 
down  the  leaders;  they  are  passing  through 
their  uninteresting  stage :  but  little  timewill  be 
required,  however,  to  bring  the  whole  into  har- 
mony. In  matters  of  beauty  and  picturesque- 
ness,  all  that  nature  needs  is  to  be  let  alone. 

The  cottage  rests  upon  a  slight  terrace 
which  occurred  casually  in  the  molding  of 
the  sandstone  slope  during  the  past  few  thou- 
sand or  few  hundred  thousand  years,  during 
which  this  peneplain  has  been  worn  down 
between  the  old  stream  of  lava  which  forms 
the  ledge,  and  the  gravelly  intervale  where  the 
great  glacial  sheet  has  here  and  there  dumped 
its  curious  kames  and  eskers  which  the  natives 
call  Indian  mounds.  This  terrace  has  been 
slowly  accented  by  the  furrows  of  cultivation, 
and  more  rapidly  by  the  distribution  of  the 
material  taken  out  in  digging  the  cellar. 

By  the  way,  I  like  to  use  these  strange  and 
newfangled  terms  such  as  appear  above,  for 
they  sound  as  if  I  knew  a  great  deal  about  the 

66 


UNDERLEDGE 

matter  and  you  will  have  to  go  to  your  diction- 
aries to  find  out  what  they  mean,  or  else  re- 
main uninstructed.  My  friend  the  Reverend 
took  exception  to  my  use  of  the  term  talus. 
He  said  that  it  was  not  a  literary  word.  But 
I  meant  talus,  and  nothing  else, — why  should 
I  not  say  it  ?  You  remember  the  reason  given 
by  Adam  for  calling  the  dog  by  that  term 
when  he  was  naming  the  animals: — he  said 
that  it  looked  like  a  dog,  it  moved  like  a  dog, 
and  it  barked  like  a  dog, — therefore,  he  called 
it  a  dog.  I  know  no  better  way  of  choosing 
a  word  to  describe  a  thing  than  to  take  that 
one  which  expresses  it. 

Past  one  end  of  the  cottage,  and  somewhat 
diagonally  toward  the  front,  runs  an  old 
stone  wall.  A  portion  of  this,  near  the  wood, 
furnished  much  of  the  material  used  in  the 
construction  of  the  building.  A  fine  round- 
headed  white  ash  tree  keeps  sentinel  at  the 
point  where  a  path  breaks  through  this  wall  to 
wander  down  toward  the  pools  at  the  foot  of 
a  rapidly  sloping  ancient  pasture,  now  grow- 
ing up  in  park-like  fashion  with  thrifty  cedars. 
When  I  took  possession,  the  ground  upon  the 
upper  side  of  this  wall  was  probably  a  foot  or 
two  higher  than  that  upon  the  lower  side,  the 
accumulation  of  years  of  washing  by  storms 
and  of  ploughing,  and  this  feature  also  was 
taken  advantage  of  in  the  shaping  of  the  little 
lawn. 


UNDERLEDGE 

In  front,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  descending 
lawn,  a  small  grove  of  white  birches  and 
cedars  and  sumachs  has  been  planted,  and 
some  distance  beyond,  on  the  farther  side  of 
an  old  wall  surmounted  by  an  irregular  fence, 
which  separates  me  from  my  nearest  neighbor, 
are  old  apple  trees  which  bloom  in  the  spring 
to  my  infinite  delight.  Over  the  tops  of  these 
appear  the  trees  and  roofs  at  the  north  end  of 
the  village,  and  beyond  them  the  valley  and 
the  hills,  and  the  sky,  and  in  the  night  the 
bright  stars. 

The  builders  have  given  me  the  keys  and 
have  departed:  the  movers  have  brought  in 
my  household  goods,  my  Lares  and  my 
Penates,  and  they  also  are  gone.  The  night 
has  fallen,  and  without,  it  lies  softly  on  the 
snow-clad  fields,  while  within  it  is  illumined 
for  a  little  space  by  the  lamp  beside  which  I 
write.  Silence  reigns  around  me,  for  I  am 
alone  upon  the  premises  save  for  the  mice 
which,  having  been  lured  by  the  dainty  scraps 
dropped  from  the  lunch  baskets  of  the  mechan- 
ics, have  already  made  themselves  fully  at 
home.  This  room  should  be  the  study,  but 
it  is  in  fact  chaos  come  again.  Piles  of 
pictures  and  big  boxes  of  books  encumber  the 
floor,  so  that  I  need  a  compass  to  enable  me 
to  navigate  among  them.  Around  me  gape 
the  shelves,  awaiting  their  load,  the  fond  com- 
panions of  my  solitude,  and  I  wonder  how  I 

68 


UNDERLEDGE 

am  going  to  accommodate  them  all.  Chaucer 
and  Spenser,  and  Shakespere  and  Browning 
and  Tennyson  and  Lowell  and  Curtis  and 
Ruskin  and  Emerson  and  Longfellow  and 
Dante  and  Scott  and  Bronte  and  Austen  and 
Thackeray,  and  Darwin  and  Spencer,  and 
hundreds  of  others — how  every  name  brings 
up  wondrous  visions!  and  the  big  histories, 
Duruy  and  Guizot  and  Rambaut  and  Green 
and  so  on, — and  the  dictionaries  and  the  en- 
cyclopaedias, the  Century  and  Murray,  and 
the  Britannica  and  Grove,  and  the  others — 
where  are  they  all  to  go  and  stand  each  in  his 
place  of  appropriate  honor  and  each  within 
easy  reach  of  my  hand  ? 

Ah!  but  this  point  I  have  already  surren- 
dered without  a  fight,  and  upstairs  and  down- 
stairs, and  in  my  lady's  chamber  (if  I  may 
make  bold  to  have  such  an  apartment),  wher- 
ever a  space  was  to  be  found,  the  shelves  have 
been  placed.  And  what  a  beautiful  time  I 
shall  have,  trying  to  remember  where  I  am  to 
discover  this  and  that  and  the  other  comrade, 
now  of  necessity  disjoined  from  old  com- 
panions, and  thrust  into  new  combinations. 
Occasionally  something  besides  misery  makes 
strange  bedfellows.  Here,  for  example,  is  a 
strapping  big  grenadier  who  belongs  beside 
this  powder  monkey ;  they  are  old  companions 
in  arms,  have  passed  through  many  a  fray  to- 
gether, and  are  in  fact  two  souls  with  but  a 

69 


UNDERLEDGE 

single  thought.  But  the  monkey  will  have  to 
be  put  into  a  cage  that  fits  his  size,  and  the 
fellow  with  the  muff  on  his  head  must  find  a 
place  upon  a  lower  shelf,  or  turn  in  on  his 
side  as  if  he  had  already  heard  "  taps  "  beaten. 
And  so  the  "  Mabinogeon  "  will  have  to  hob- 
nob with  Palmer's  "  Mushrooms,"  and  "  Hy- 
perion "  with  "  Tartarin  de  Tarascon," 
Shakespere  with  Guizot,  "  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley  "  with  "  The  Sparrow  grass  Papers," 
and  Herbert  Spencer  with  "  Patroclus  and 
Penelope  "  and  "  Gardening  for  Pleasure  and 
Profit." 

Well,  never  mind.  Do  we  not  knock  about 
every  day  among  all  sorts  of  fellows,  and 
find  something  in  common  between  most  of 
them?  And  even  the  contrast  is  in  itself  re- 
freshing. Only  there  must  be  an  inner  circle 
close  at  hand,  and  if  I  cannot  have  within  it 
all  that  I  desire,  there  will  at  least  be  some 
that  are  among  the  dearest,  and  some  without 
whom  life  would  be  quite  another  business. 
And  here  shall  be  all  of  Shakespere,  and  of 
Emerson,  and  of  Browning,  and  all  that  I 
own  of  Tennyson,  and  Dante,  and  the 
"  Earthly  Paradise,"  and  "  Prue  and  I,"  and 
"Modern  Painters,"  and  the  "Cathedral," 
and  Chaucer  and  Spenser,  and  "  The  Voices 
of  the  Night,"  and  George  Herbert,  and 
Clough  and  a  lot  of  others — as  many  as  the 
corner  will  hold.  And  it  isn't  so  far  after  all 

70 


UNDERLEDGE 

to  the  other  shelves  when  rooms  adjoin,  and 
there  is  only  one  flight  of  steps  to  the  second 
story,  and  the  studding  is  less  than  eight  feet 
high. 

And  I  wonder  where  the  pictures  will  go? 
They  don't  amount  to  much  in  market  value, 
but  they  are  cherished  companions,  and  they 
form  so  many  windows  through  which  I  look 
out  upon  the  past,  and  have  visions  of  other 
climes  and  other  peoples.  There  are  portraits 
of  old  friends,  whose  lips  have  said  good-by 
for  the  last  time  before  embarking  upon  that 
strange  voyage  concerning  which  we  speculate 
so  much,  and  with  so  little  effective  response; 
and  portraits  of  the  World's  great  ones  who 
have  been  gone  so  long  that  we  think  of  them 
no  longer  as  dead  but  as  living.  And  there 
are  copies  of  the  masterpieces  of  these,  and 
shadows  of  monumental  piles  of  the  artistic 
past;  bits  of  picturesque  nature,  and  the 
scribe's  own  memoranda  of  other  days  and 
other  scenes.  Well,  they  will  doubtless  all 
fall  into  their  places  within  a  few  days,  and 
gradually  grow  familiar  again  in  their  new 
relations. 

And  now  the  scribe  turns  back  a  year  in  his 
musings,  wanders  again  over  the  open  hill- 
side, replaces  the  four  stones  which  were  to 
mark  the  location  of  the  four  corners  of  the 
cottage,  sits  down  upon  the  old  wall  under  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  ash  tree,  and  looks 

71 


UNDERLEDGE 

through  the  vacant  space  to  be  occupied  by  the 
finished  cottage,  dreaming  of  the  future  and 
the  things  that  might  be.  And  he  remembers 
some  things  which  have  happened  since  then, 
of  which  no  faintest  whisper  was  borne  upon 
the  air.  L'homme  propose,  et  Dieu  dispose, 
and  sometimes  it  is  quite  as  well  that  Uhomme 
doesn't  know  what  is  coming.  Fortunately 
there  dawns  a  New  Year's  day  with  every 
heart  beat,  and  shall  not  each  that  follows 
in  the  coming  twelvemonth  be  the  happiest 
one  of  all  the  glad  New  Year? 

And  so  the  scribe  comes  back  to  the  present, 
and  closing  the  desk  which  is  to  be  the  work 
bench  of  the  future,  takes  his  lamp,  and  climb- 
Ing  over  the  great  cases  and  carefully  avoid- 
ing the  brittle  frames,  makes  his  way  through 
the  silent  house  and  up  the  stairway  which  has 
no  strange  stories  yet  to  tell,  and  has  not 
learned  to  creak,  and  takes  possession  of  that 
upper  chamber  which  is  henceforth  to  be  his. 
And  though  the  starry  lamps  are  not  hung  out 
to  mark  the  stages  of  the  night,  and  no  breath 
comes  to  him  from  any  one  of  all  the  millions 
that  people  the  earth,  to  whom  he  is  as  if  he 
were  not,  yet  falls  he  softly  into  a  deep  and 
dreamless  sleep. 

"  And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away." 

72 


THE    FOG 

THE    tree   tops   on   the  slope   loom 
vaguely    through    the    fog    which 
covers   the  valley  and   spreads  up 
the  hillside.     Farther  off  they  be- 
come a  mere  blur,  a  slightly  denser  grayness 
where  all  is  gray  and  mysterious.     The  gray 
stones  of  the  wall  of  the  house  are  cold  and 
damp,    and    the   moisture   glistens   upon    the 
newly  oiled  floor  of  the  porch.     The  snow 
which  still  lingers  on  the  southward-sloping 
hills,  and  lies  thick  under  shelter  of  woodland 
and  wall,  has  a  sodden,  spiritless  appearance, 
compared  with  that  which  it  wore  a  month 
ago.     The  ashen  tone  everywhere  prevalent 
dulls  hope  and  dampens  courage. 

I  remember  reading  somewhere,  a  great 
many  years  ago,  a  novel  entitled  "  Weary  foot 
Common,"  written,  if  my  memory  does  not 
betray  me,  by  Leitch  Ritchie.  I  recall  noth- 
ing now  of  its  story.  I  only  have  a  sense  of  a 
waste  of  level  plain  near  a  great  city,  crossed 
by  footpaths  here  and  there,  upon  which  the 
fog  and  mist  descend  from  time  to  time, 
shrouding  all  details  in  their  leaden  pall,  and 

73 


THE    FOG 

making  doubtful  and  somewhat  dangerous  the 
wanderings  of  those  engulfed  therein,  even  as 
the  haze  falls  from  time  to  time  on  the  path 
of  the  hero,  hiding  from  him  light,  life,  and 
hope. 

The  novel  may  not  have  been  much  of  a 
novel,  and  the  metaphor  may  have  been  a  trifle 
overworked:  I  have  not  the  least  idea  in  re- 
gard to  this,  for  it  is  longer  than  I  like  to 
remember  since  I  read  the  book,  and  I  have  no 
recollection  of  ever  having  heard  of  anyone 
else  doing  so.  I  should  like  to  see  it  again,  to 
find  how  it  would  impress  me.  But  for  these 
many  years  this  one  picture  presented  in  it  has 
rested  in  my  mind,  continually  recurring  to 
thought,  and  keeping  in  memory,  in  the  vague 
way  that  I  have  described,  the  book  and  its 
author,  while  hundreds  of  other  volumes  have 
one  by  one  fallen  back  into  the  abyss  of  noth- 
ingness, so  that  their  names  and  incidents 
would  not  awaken  the  slightest  recollection. 

And  now,  as  alone  I  cross  the  threshold  of 
the  new  home  and  gaze  out  into  the  fog,  the 
chill  raw  air  penetrating  my  garments,  and 
causing  my  flesh  to  creep,  I  feel  a  certain  re- 
action after  the  accomplished  task.  Coventry 
Patmore,  in  "  The  Angel  in  the  House/'  con- 
fesses to  a  chill  which  falls  upon  the  lover 
even  in  the  instant  immediately  following  the 
attainment  of  his  heart's  desire,  a  sensation 
that  if  this  were  possible  of  attainment,  it  was 

74 


THE    FOG 

not  quite  that  which  had  been  hoped  for,— 
how  does  the  phrase  go  ? 

"  Poor  in  its  need  to  be  possessed," 

I  think.  There  is  something  in  this,  per- 
haps, but  there  is  probably  more  in  the  fact 
that  "  Othello's  occupation's  gone."  It  is 
said  that  were  truth  offered  with  the  one 
hand,  and  the  search  after  truth  with  the 
other,  the  wiser  choice  would  be  to  accept  the 
search  after  truth.  Certain  it  is  that  there  is 
no  such  sweetener  of  the  sad  hours,  no  such 
balm  to  the  wounded  spirit,  as  close  occupa- 
tion in  a  worthy  cause. 

"...  Sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought," 

is  a  phrase  that  expresses  or  explains  more 
than  one  situation  to  which  we  are  wont. 
Undoubtedly  it  is  possible  to  consider  one's 
course  in  certain  matters  with  too  much  care 
and  deliberation.  Then  truly 

"  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought, 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment 
With  this  regard  their  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action." 

But  also  there  are  for  many  persons  in  this 
weary  world,  often  weary  for  such  as  they, 
occasions  when  the  perplexities  of  life  are 
insoluble,  which  perplexities  recur  to  the  spirit 
with  a  persistence  of  repetition  and  continu^ 

75 


THE    FOG 

ance  which  is  appalling;  and  for  such  there  is 
no  anodyne  like  work,  work  which  requires 
consecutive  thought,  and  is  accompanied  or 
followed  by  a  result  apparent,  but  leading  on 
to  other  work.  For  the  moment,  and  perhaps 
for  many  moments,  contemplation  and  fruit- 
less questioning  are  lost  in  productive  and 
absorbing  thought. 

Over  the  whist  table  last  evening  a  dis- 
cussion was  raised  by  the  Professor,  who  re- 
marked that  the  greater  part  of  our  existence 
is  passed  in  a  condition  of  indifference,  a 
merely  negative  situation,  involving  neither 
pleasure  nor  pain.  To  this,  Piscator,  the 
Engineer,  and  the  Scribe  all  excepted.  The 
Scribe  indeed  admitted  that  there  might  be 
some,  perhaps  many,  whom  life  handled  in 
such  a  way  that  neither  elation  nor  depression 
accompanied  their  ordinary  experiences.  For 
himself,  however,  he  could  not  so  record  it 
Deeper  than  ever  plummet  soundeth  were  the 
depths  to  which  from  time  to  time  he  sank, 
but  no  power  upon  earth  could  keep  him 
there;  and  the  acuteness  of  the  pain  of  one 
moment  was  only  to  be  compared  with  the 
intensity  of  the  pleasure  of  another.  It  might 
be  that  Agur  was  right  in  his  desire  that  he 
be  given  neither  poverty  nor  riches,  and  that 
he  should  be  allowed  to  sail  life's  main  upon 
an  even  keel,  but  for  him  fate  had  not  so 
willed  it. 


THE    FOG 

The  Engineer  in  like  manner  compared  his 
own  experience  of  life's  incidents  to  the  active 
joy  which  he  then  felt  in  the  cessation  of  pain 
wrought  by  a  few  unctuous  drops  from  a 
strange  bottle  from  foreign  parts  (the  goiter 
in  the  neck  of  which  was  surely  a  grotesque 
joke  upon  the  part  of  the  worthy  but  sly 
monks  who  sent  it  forth)  and  to  the  preced- 
ing pain  itself,  too  great,  it  seemed,  to  be 
appropriate  to  the  slight  cause  from  which  it 
grew. 

The  fisherman  munched  his  cheese  and  re- 
called with  such  loving  and  lingering  fondness 
the  events  of  the  day, — the  stony  brook,  the 
overhanging  branches,  the  speckled  trout, — 
that  no  one  could  doubt  how  life  affected 
him. 

Now,  leaning  upon  the  rail  of  the  rustic 
porch,  a  tough  cedar  trunk  to  which  the  bark 
clings  here  and  there,  but  which,  where  it  has 
lost  this  screen,  shows  the  most  elaborate 
system  of  intaglio  carving  wrought  by  the 
patient  worms,  here  in  bold  and  intricately 
interlacing  channels,  there  in  delicate  fairy 
tracery,  I  look  into  the  dense  fog  and  seek  to 
decipher  the  secrets  of  the  future.  Who  is 
the  hero  for  whom  the  new  home  is  to  serve 
for  a  stage,  and  what  is  the  drama  which  is 
there  to  be  played  out?  For  hero  there  must 
surely  be,  if  no  heroine,  and  life  is  so  varied 
and  so  full  of  interest,  when  seen  at  the  right 

77 


THE    FOG 

angle  and  with  a  lens  of  the  proper  power, 
that  we  shall  never  lack  for  the  drama. 

"  Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 
Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary,*' 

and  tragedy  is  apt  to  occupy  the  boards. 

"  But  taking  the  year  together,  my  dear, 
There  isn't  more  cloud  than  sun" 

for  most  of  us,  and  whatever  the  future  may 
be,  the  world  should  be  no  worse  for  the  play, 
if  the  actors  bear  their  parts  right  nobly. 

"  Then  in  life's  goblet  freely  press 
The  leaves  that  give  it  bitterness, 
Nor  prize  the  colored  waters  less, 
For  in  thy  darkness  and  distress 

New  light  and  strength  they  give  !  " 

And  so,  though  the  fog  be  thick  and  the 
heavens  be  gray,  do  thou  "  Go  forth  to  meet 
the  shadowy  future  without  fear,  and  with  a 
manly  heart." 


VI 
WAITING  FOR  THE  RAIN 

THE  well  has  been  useless  for  weeks. 
A  careful  search  along  under  the 
ledge  revealed  a  copious  spring,  the 
waters  from  which  found  their  way 
by  various  channels  through  the  orchard  and 
across  the  mountain  meadow,  making  marshy 
ground  of  my  hayfield.  Tracing  the  tide 
back  toward  the  cliff,  and  removing  a  ton  or 
two  of  loose  stone,  I  found  the  water  issuing 
from  the  hillside,  a  tiny  pearly  stream.  Alas ! 
but  a  few  days  later,  and  it  had  given  me  the 
slip,  and  sought  a  channel  beneath.  Another 
search  developed  another  stream  behind  and 
nearer  to  the  house,  and  this  also  I  traced  back 
toward  the  bluff  rock,  into  the  talus  at  its 
foot.  Carefully  removing  stone  after  stone, 
I  followed  it  as  far  as  I  dared  (for  he  that  is 
familiar  with  it  knows  what  it  is  to  trifle 
with  the  talus  of  a  trap  ledge),  and  digging 
downward,  made  a  little  basin,  in  which  the 
limpid  and  delicious  beverage  might  tarry  a 
while  before  hurrying  on  its  way  to  the  river. 
Selecting  a  mark  by  which  to  gauge  it,  a  stone 
at  the  side  of  the  basin  upon  which  the  spark 
of  light  reflected  from  the  edge  indicated  the 

79 


WAITING  FOR  THE  RAIN 

height  of  the  water,  I  tested  the  flow  with  a 
quart  measure;  eight  quarts  per  minute — 
ninety  barrels  per  day.  Surely  a  supply 
adequate  for  the  purposes  of  anyone.  And 
oh !  how  delicious  it  was. 

So,  pending  a  more  satisfactory  method,  the 
pail  was  carried  to  and  fro  the  short  distance 
between  the  house  and  the  spring,  and  every- 
one was  happy.  For  two  or  three  days  the 
supply  seemed  to  dwindle  but  slowly,  and 
then  I  measured  again:  fifty  barrels  per  day. 
I  made  the  basin  somewhat  larger  and  deeper. 
The  next  day  the  spring  was  delivering  at  the 
rate  of  thirty-seven  barrels.  For  two  or  three 
days  it  remained  running  at  about  the  same 
rate,  then  fell  to  twenty-five  barrels,  then 
lower,  ten  barrels,  and  then,  at  the  end  of  six- 
teen days,  alas!  it  had  gone  completely  dry, 
and  the  clay  at  the  bottom  of  the  basin  was 
parched  and  cracked. 

There  has  not  been  enough  rain  at  any  time 
during  the  winter  or  spring  to  fill  the  cistern, 
and  now  but  a  few  inches  of  water  cover  its 
bottom.  The  few  drops  of  rain  which  have 
fallen  upon  the  roof  within  the  past  week  or 
two  have  been  greedily  absorbed  by  the  dry 
shingles. 

Yet  who  would  think  it?  Just  a  month 
ago  the  water  from  the  melting  snow  came 
down  from  the  hills,  and  our  river  went  out 
over  the  valley,  forming  a  great  lake,  upon 

80 


WAITING   FOR  THE   RAIN 

which  the  gale  raised  waves  formidable  enough 
to  cause  would-be  passengers  to  draw  back 
from  the  frail  canoe  which  was  moored  by  the 
shore,  ready  to  serve  as  transport  to  the 
further  side.  And  still  the  waters  must  be 
trickling  underground  on  the  hillsides,  where 
long  roots  may  reach  them,  for  cherry  trees, 
pear  trees,  apple  trees,  peach  trees  are  in 
bloom,  all  the  trees  of  the  forest  and  field  are 
rushing  into  leaf,  and  the  sugar  maples  are 
perfect  pyramids  of  little  parasols  with  long 
fringes. 

And  the  grass — oh!  how  lush  and  green  it 
looks!  especially  on  the  mountain  meadow, 
which  was  seeded  down  last  autumn.  Over 
the  undulating  slopes  between  the  house  and 
the  road  I  see  it  waving,  laughing  in  the  hot 
air,  with  here  and  there  a  yellow  spire  of  wild 
mustard  which  has  suddenly  flung  its  golden 
plumes  to  the  breeze. 

But  these  are  the  old  inhabitants  that  have 
a  strong  grip  upon  life.  In  past  times  they 
have  struck  their  roots  deep  down  in  Mother 
Earth,  and  through  innumerable  tiny  fibers 
they  gather  the  nutritious  juices  that  they 
need.  Not  so  the  new-comers.  Here  are 
trees  and  shrubs  and  climbing  vines  by  the 
hundreds,  newly  planted  like  myself — azaleas 
and  roses  and  spiraeas,  honeysuckles  and  wis- 
tarias, maples  and  lindens  and  locusts  and 
chestnuts  and  beeches  and  sweet  shrub  and 

81 


WAITING  FOR  THE   RAIN 

ivy  and  a  host  of  others,  and  they  cry  "  give 
us  to  drink  or  we  perish."  Most,  even  of 
these,  are  opening  their  leaves,  and  spreading 
them  to  catch  the  nightly  dews,  strengthened 
perhaps  by  the  elaborated  sap  already  stored 
in  their  veins. 

And  on  the  newly  graded  ground,  grass 
seed  has  been  sown,  and  lies  waiting  upon  the 
parched  surface.  And  the  flower  beds  have 
been  put  in  order,  and  this  morning  I  planted 
the  seeds  in  the  "  wild  garden,"  thinking  hope- 
fully that  perhaps  the  long  delay  might  be 
almost  ended.  For  yesterday  the  barometer 
began  to  fall,  though  slightly,  and  a  thunder- 
storm, the  cloud  summits  of  which,  cleft  here 
and  there  by  lightning,  just  showed  above  the 
Burlington  hills,  and  then  passed  slowly  up 
the  Naugatuck  valley  beyond. 

And  this  afternoon,  as  I  write,  I  sit  on  the 
veranda  waiting,  waiting  for  the  rain.  Will 
it  come?  The  haze  lies  over  the  valley  and 
shrouds  the  distant  hills,  concealing  those  upon 
the  horizon,  and  softening  while  relieving  the 
outline  of  those  which  are  nearer.  The  fleecy 
clouds  in  the  sky  become  more  and  more 
numerous,  but  look  dry  and  hot.  They  are 
mostly  without  characteristic  shape,  but  just 
now  I  see  to  the  northward  a  "  thunder-head  " 
clearly  defined  against  the  pure  blue,  which 
elsewhere  is  mostly  covered  with  a  gauzy  veil. 
A  fine  breeze  rises  and  tempers  the  oppressive 

82 


WAITING  FOR  THE   RAIN 

heat,  and  ripples  over  the  surface  of  the  pools 
in  the  marshy  pasture. 

As  the  cloud-ships  pass  before  the  sun,  their 
shadows  swiftly  march  over  the  waving  grass 
of  the  meadow,  envelop  me  for  a  moment, 
and  climb  the  hills  at  my  back.  But  over  the 
valley  at  my  feet  they  seem  to  have  a  more 
stately  motion,  their  speed  growing  less  in  the 
distance,  while  the  hills  beyond  disappear  and 
again  appear  as,  one  by  one,. they  are  in  turn 
enveloped  and  released. 

Will  it  come — the  rain?  I  fear  not,  and 
yet  the  barometer  still  is  gently  falling.  The 
clouds,  I  believe,  are  always  of  vapor,  and  yet 
they  look  so  dry,  as  if  you  might  wrap  yourself 
in  them  as  in  light  thistledown.  I  heard  the 
tree  toads  this  morning,  but  they  are  treacher- 
ous promisers.  They  have  often  sung  to  me 
their  siren  song.  Now  I  hear  the  robins  and 
sundry  other  birds,  which  seem  to  have  been 
awakened  by  the  refreshing  breeze;  from  my 
neighbor's  house  comes  the  sound  of  the 
carpenter's  hammer ;  from  the  village  streets  I 
hear  the  bells  from  a  passing  team;  in  the 
distance  are  children's  voices.  And  as  for  a 
moment,  I  raise  my  eyes  from  my  paper,  a 
yellow  butterfly  wings  its  way  across  the  field 
— Psyche,  in  search  of  she  scarce  knows  what ; 
the  something  for  which  the  wistful  soul  is 
always  longing,  but  how  seldom  obtains  in  its 
completeness ! 

83 


VII 
THE    WIND 

WHEW!      How    it    blows!      One 
who  has  the  privilege  of  living 
at  Underledge  does  not  need  to 
go  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  great 
towers  which  modern  imitators  of  the  builders 
of  Babel  are  erecting  in  the  crowded  cities,  in 
order  to  receive  the  impression  which  he  might 
obtain  upon  the  topmast  of  a  vessel  at  sea. 
There  is  no  object  standing  as  high  as  the  cot- 
tage in  the  direction  of  "  the  Northwest  wind, 
Keewaydin,"  nearer  than  four  or  five  miles 
away,  and  as  it  ramps  and  tears  around  us  I 
am  glad  that  the  walls  are  thick  and  that  they 
are  of  solid  rock. 

No  weather-strips  have  yet  been  put  in 
place,  and  the  searching  blast  finds  its  way 
through  the  cracks,  and  sets  the  draperies  to 
waving.  I  dare  not  open  the  doors  or  win- 
dows upon  that  side  of  the  house,  lest  all  the 
loose  articles  in  the  room  be  sent  flying  in  a 
heterogeneous  flock  to  the  farther  corner. 
The  piping  is  shrill  through  each  narrow 
crevice,  and  if  I  venture  for  a  moment  to  place 
the  seolian  harp  upon  the  window-ledge  with 


THE    WIND 

ever  so  small  a  crack  opened,  a  piercing  shriek 
reproaches  me  for  the  inhuman  act.  The 
trees  along  the  ledge  wave  and  bend  with  a 
tumult  and  a  roar  like  that  of  the  stormy 
ocean  beating  upon  a  rugged  shore. 

Sitting  in  the  middle  of  my  library,  or 
workshop,  or  study,  the  "  keeping-room," — 
for  it  is  each  of  these, — all  is  calm  and  still. 
But  it  is  as  if  I  were  in  a  tower  built  upon  a 
rocky  headland  beside  the  raging  sea,  and  an 
irrepressible  feeling  of  unrest  is  compelled  by 
the  furious  onset  of  the  gale.  I  am  reminded 
of  the  wild  rush  of  the  waters  on  that  mo- 
mentous voyage  when  I  saw  the  world,  as 
leaning  against  the  side  of  my  stateroom,  and 
supporting  myself  by  the  window-frame,  I 
glanced  over  the  sloping  deck,  wearily  watch- 
ing that  I  might  escape  the  mad  assaults  of  my 
trunk,  as  it  charged  to  and  fro  and  threatened 
to  rend  me  limb  from  limb  if  I  incautiously 
stood  in  its  way.  I  could  imagine  myself  the 
hero  of  Victor  Hugo's  "  Ninety-Three,"  and 
my  trunk  the  great  gun  which  is  therein 
represented  as  taking  possession  of  the  gun- 
deck  of  the  ship. 

It  was  my  one  outing  upon  the  high  seas, 
and  our  big  boat  pitched  and  tossed  like  a  chip 
upon  the  surface,  alone  in  the  center  of  that 
great  circle,  with  the  mighty  deep,  nothing  but 
innocent  little  drops  of  water,  profoundly 
stirred,  and  erecting  its  crests  high  in  the  face 

85 


THE    WIND 

of  heaven,  while  great  valleys  opened  between, 
stretching  far  away  toward  the  horizon. 
Nothing  but  air  and  water,  water  and  air. 
To  be  sure,  the  water  was  three  or  four  miles 
deep,  but  then  six  feet  would  have  been 
enough  for  me,  and  to  spare. 

What  a  difference  it  makes  how  things  are 
placed!  I  sit,  for  instance,  on  the  sloping 
sands,  which  are  warm  with  the  rays  of  the 
summer  sun;  the  spent  wave  dies  at  my  feet, 
and  the  pores  of  the  sand  quickly  drink  in  its 
briny  libation.  And  yonder  a  gleeful  child 
plays  along  the  shore,  the  soft  cool  waters 
gently  lapping  its  chubby  feet  and  white 
ankles.  Then  I  walk  out  to  meet  the  siren, 
and  she  clasps  me  gently  by  the  knees,  and 
by  the  waist,  and  by  the  shoulders,  and  I  yield 
myself  to  the  caressing  touch,  and,  lying  upon 
the  surface,  float  lazily,  looking  up  into  the 
fathomless  sea  of  air  above  me.  And  then, 
after  but  a  little  while,  I  glance  around,  and 
find  that  the  treacherous  sea-maiden  has  borne 
me  away  on  her  bosom,  and  that  the  familiar 
shore  is  fast  receding.  And  with  a  sudden 
start  I  let  my  feet  fall  and  try  to  touch  the 
bottom,  but  there  is  no  bottom.  And  then  a 
sense  of  powerlessness  comes  over  me,  and  I 
throw  out  my  arms  and  breathe  quickly,  and 
take  in  a  great  gulp  of  the  salty  sea.  And  I 
realize  that  I  am  in  the  arms  of  a  stronger 
than  I,  and  that  I  must  conquer,  if  at  all,  by 

86 


THE    WIND 

nerve  force;  and  so  I  take  a  great  grip  with 
my  will,  and  set  my  teeth,  and  settle  down  to 
a  contest  of  endurance;  and  then,  little  by 
little,  the  land  approaches  again,  with  the 
white  sands  and  the  green  grass  and  the  wav- 
ing trees,  and  then  my  foot  catches  the  solid 
earth,  and  I  know  that  this  world  is  still  my 
home,  with  another  chance  for  me  to  act  a 
little  part  in  it. 

Here,  it  is  the  viewless  air,  through  which 
I  pass  my  hand  and  can  find  nothing.  It 
seems  an  utter  void,  though  which  in  the  calm 
summer  days  the  gaudy  butterflies  loiter 
in  their  devious  flight,  and  the  thistle- 
down sails  with  motionless  fibers  like  an 
ethereal  shuttlecock.  But  yonder,  great  oaks 
are  bending  before  it,  their  branches  clashing 
together,  and  here  and  there  breaking  and  fall- 
ing to  the  ground  or  whirling  away  into  the 
adjoining  field.  And  as  it  rushes  and  riots 
about  the  house,  spending  its  giant  strength 
impotently  upon  the  well-laid  walls,  I  think 
sympathetically  of  those  who  go  down  unto 
the  sea  in  ships,  and  thank  my  stars  that  I  am 
not  with  them.  And  away  goes  my  memory 
back  to  an  evening  in  the  Brooklyn  Academy 
of  Music,  and  Salvini  is  playing  Lear,  the  old 
man  buffeted  by  the  tides  of  evil  fortune,  who 
will  remain  for  all  time  as  the  type  of  those 
against  whom  ingratitude  has  done  its  worst, 
but  still  "  every  inch  a  king,"  who  stands  out 


THE    WIND 

in  the  storm  and  wreaks  his  impotent  fury  in 
bitter  words: 

"  Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks!  rage!  blow  !  " 

And  we  follow  the  tragedy  to  the  end,  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  polyglot  feature  of  the  per- 
formance. Was  there  ever  a  more  pathetic 
picture  than  that  with  which  it  closed,  as  the 
great  actor  played  it,  the  king  mourning  over 
the  dead  Cordelia,  dead  in  the  hour  of  her 
vindication?  I  trow  not. 

"  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and 
thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not 
tell  whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it  goeth." 
But  at  length  it  has  spent  its  fury,  and  as  it 
subsides  to  a  gentle  murmur,  still  issuing  from 
those  distant  hills,  and  the  sun  is  setting,  I  am 
fain  in  thought  at  least  to  go  to  meet  it,  for  I 
remember  again  that  this  is  the  wind  of 
destiny;  for 

"  Thus  departed  Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha  the  beloved, 
In  the  glory  of  the  sunset, 
In  the  purple  mists  of  evening, 
To  the  regions  of  the  home  wind, 
Of  the  northwest  wind,  Keewaydin, 
To  the  Islands  of  the  Blessed, 
To  the  kingdom  of  Ponemah, 
To  the  land  of  the  Hereafter." 


88 


VIII 
ROVER 

R)VER  is  an  Irish  setter,  with  long, 
soft  brown  hair,  dark  on  the  head 
and  back  and  front  of  the  legs,  and 
verging  on  a  straw  color  where  it 
"  feathers  out  "  on  the  throat  and  belly  and 
thighs  and  tail.  He  was  an  awkward  puppy, 
six  months  old,  when  I  obtained  him  a  year 
and  a  half  ago,  from  which  fact  you  may  be 
.able  to  compute  his  present  age.  At  the  inn 
where  I  was  then  staying  he  at  once  became  a 
great  favorite,  spoiled  by  everyone  about  the 
place.  I  had  a  fancy  that  I  should  like  to 
live  with  my  dog,  like  the  maidens  in  the  story 
books,  and  so  I  took  him  to  my  room  and  had 
him  eat  and  sleep  by  my  bedside.  But  it  did 
not  work  very  well.  His  manners  and  habits 
were  not  first-rate,  and  then  I  sometimes  had 
to  go  away  and  leave  him  for  days  at  a  time. 

I  remember  when  first  I  took  him  out  walk- 
ing with  me.  The  ground  was  covered  with 
snow  and  ice,  upon  which  the  poor  fellow, 
loose-jointed  and  awkward  at  best,  slipped 
and  sprawled  about  in  the  most  ridiculous 
fashion.  And  we  went  skating, — I  was  to  do 

89 


ROVER 

the  skating,  and  he  was  to  be  spectator  and 
chorus, — and  he  performed  his  part  to  the  life, 
getting  plenty  of  exercise,  and  laughing  at 
his  own  mishaps. 

He  was  a  great  baby,  full  of  the  joy  of  liv- 
ing, and  overflowing  with  love  for  everybody. 
His  pleasure  lasted  into  his  dreams,  and  it  was 
great  fun  to  watch  him,  when  some  particu- 
larly delightful  fancy  came  across  his  mind, 
while  he  was  asleep.  The  quirk  about  his 
lips,  and  the  pounding  of  his  tail  upon  the 
floor,  gave  unmistakable  evidence  of  the  happy 
vision  which  entertained  him. 

Unfortunately,  within  a  few  weeks  after  I 
purchased  him,  he  caught  the  distemper,  and 
soon  became  a  very  sick  dog  indeed,  coughing 
and  moping,  and  generally  miserable.  I  did 
not  in  the  least  know  what  to  do  for  him,  and 
had  to  write  and  telegraph  for  instructions 
and  for  medicine.  He  was  removed  to  a 
warm  room  in  the  barn,  where  he  could  be 
conveniently  cared  for,  leaving  me  more  com- 
fortable in  his  absence,  for  my  apartment  was 
not  fitted  for  a  canine  hospital.  And  then 
David  Mapelson — you  know  David? — told 
me  that  I  should  give  him  "  beef,  iron,  and 
wine/'  with  which  he  said  that  he  had  success- 
fully treated  several  such  cases.  This  I  did, 
and  thanks  to  this  and  other  good  treatment,  he 
pulled  through,  not  without  permanent  injury, 
however,  which  frequently  manifests  itself  in 

90 


ROVER 

a  sort  of  gasp  or  twitching.  I  am  told,  I 
know  not  how  truly,  that  it  is  simply  nervous- 
ness. Certain  it  is  that  it  does  not  destroy 
his  happiness,  or  deter  him  from  active  exercise. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  neglected  Rover, 
but  he  never  bore  malice  or  resented  it,  and 
would  always  show  the  utmost  joy  when  I 
appeared.  He  would  climb  all  over  me  at 
once  in  the  most  indiscriminate  and  uncom- 
fortable fashion,  with  a  particular  fancy  for 
biting  playfully  at  my  feet  and  at  the  legs  of 
my  trousers.  He  and  Shep  (Shep  is  a  shep- 
herd Js  dog  living,  also,  at  the  inn)  became 
great  cronies;  in  fact,  almost  inseparable. 
The  comrades  would  go  away  often,  and  be 
absent  for  hours  together. 

When  I  moved  into  the  cottage  in  February 
I  left  Rover  at  the  inn,  for  I  had  made  no 
preparations  for  his  comfort.  I  had  nothing 
for  him  to  eat,  and  besides,  I  did  not  know 
quite  what  to  do  with  him.  Moreover,  the 
cottage  was  infested  with  mice,  for  which 
reason  I  had  secured  the  services  of  a  kitten, 
one  Titus  Andronicus,  of  whom  more  here- 
after. Titus  had  been  brought  up,  not  "  by 
hand,"  but  in  a  barn — in  fact,  I  'spect  he 
"  just  growed,"  and  being  of  a  very  timid 
disposition — at  least,  in  my  presence — I  feared 
to  complicate  the  situation  by  introducing  the 
canine  element.  But  one  day  I  thought  it 
was  time  that  Rover  should  become  a  per- 

91 


ROVER 

manent  resident  of  his  master's  home,  so  I 
brought  him  up  to  the  cottage,  which  he  had 
not  visited  since  its  completion,  and  asked 
Hickory  Ann  to  find  him  some  provender, 
which  she  did.  But,  mindful  of  the  fact  that 
his  best  friend  remained  at  the  inn,  and  that 
he  had  there  been  accustomed  to  regale  on 
roast  turkey  and  other  delicacies,  whereas  he 
could  not  here  expect  to  live  upon  the  fat  of 
the  land,  I  thought  it  best  to  tie  him  for  a 
while  to  the  railing  of  the  porch,  where  he 
could  have  comfortable  shelter.  He  seemed 
quite  happy  and  contented  there,  and  doubt- 
less made  up  for  much  loss  of  sleep  in  the  past. 

The  next  day  I  let  him  run  for  a  while. 
We  were  much  pleased  that  he  stayed  around 
the  house,  and  returned  to  us,  after  making  a 
call  upon  my  next  neighbor.  But  later  in  the 
day  he  wandered  off,  and  we  saw  him  no  more 
that  day. 

I  subsequently  found  that  the  ties  of  friend- 
ship had  been  too  much  for  his  fidelity  to  me. 
He  had  returned  to  Shep  (who  had  done 
nothing  but  mope  since  his  disappearance), 
and  they  were  off  somewhere  as  usual,  per- 
ambulating the  country  together.  Mine  host 
at  the  inn  had  dark  misgivings  as  to  his  ever 
remaining  permanently  with  me  after  this  re- 
lapse, but,  what  was  worse  than  this,  he  had 
heard  rumors  of  recently  slaughtered  sheep  in 
towns  to  the  northward.  There  was  nothing 

92 


ROVER 

to  connect  the  two  friends  with  these  dire 
rumors,  and  no  reason  to  feel  that  they  were 
responsible,  but  visions  of  portentous  bills  for 
mutton  danced  before  our  eyes.  What  could 
I  do?  It  did  not  seem  that  I  could  keep  the 
dog,  and  I  could  not  give  him  away  without 
a  guaranty  that  he  should  be  properly  cared 
for.  So,  reluctantly,  I  gave  instructions  that 
he  should  be  shot  and  decently  interred. 

In  the  evening,  as  I  was  sitting  writing  in 
my  study,  I  heard  a  light  footfall,  and  a 
moment  later  who  should  appear  but  Rover, 
wet  and  bedraggled,  but  full  of  the  joy  of 
recognition — or  of  anticipation — which?  I 
gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  receiv- 
ing his  moist  embraces  with  as  good  a  temper 
as  possible,  I  led  him  out  and  tied  him  in  the 
porch,  where  he  was  soon  devouring  as  good  a 
meal  as  Hickory  Ann  could  furnish  him  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment. 

But  this  is  where  the  fun  came  in.  I  had 
scarcely  returned  comfortably  to  my  work 
when  a  series  of  barks  near  the  edge  of  the 
wood  caught  my  ear,  and  I  went  to  the  door 
just  in  time  to  see  Shep  gliding  through  the 
darkness  toward  the  feasting  Rover.  This, 
then,  was  the  dodge.  No  mutton  to-day,  but 
two  hungry  dogs,  one  of  which  had  been  sent 
forward  to  provide  the  repast,  while  the 
stranger  waited  unseen  in  the  background. 

What  shall  I  do  with  Rover? 

93 


IX 
TITUS    ANDRONICUS 

THAT'S   the  kitten — or  cat— which 
is  it  ?     When  does  a  kitten  cease  to 
be    a    kitten    and    become    a    cat? 
When  does  a  boy  cease  to  be  a  boy 
and  become  a  man?     I  am  afraid  that  it  de- 
pends upon  the  boy — and  the  kitten.     Some  of 
us,  probably,  will  never  cease  to  be  boys,  and 
so  with  kittens.     So  with  Titus.     Even  his 
name  does  not  depress  him.     But  then  he  is 
called  "  Tight  "  for  short. 

Titus  Andronicus  is  Maltese  by  descent, 
and  emanated  from  a  barn.  I  suppose  it  was 
a  promotion  to  be  taken  from  a  barn  to  a 
house,  but  Titus  did  not  think  so,  or,  if  he 
did,  he  must  have  been  overcome  by  the 
grandeur  of  the  cottage,  for  when  the  bag  in 
which  he  had  been  brought  up  in  the  grocer's 
wagon  was  opened  he  took  refuge  under  the 
sink  and  wholly  refused  to  enter  into  com- 
munication with  me.  I  had  just  moved  in, 
and  had  no  time  for  formalities,  so  I  left  him 
to  his  own  devices  and  went  on  with  my  work 
arranging  books  at  the  other  end  of  the  house. 
An  hour  or  two  later,  hearing  a  sudden  rush, 

94 


TITUS    ANDRONICUS 

I  went  to  see  what  was  the  trouble,  and  there 
stood  Titus,  less  than  a  yard  away  from  his 
original  post,  with  a  mouse  in  his  mouth.  It 
appeared  that  the  mouse  did  not  understand 
the  rationale  of  a  cat  (or  kitten)  sulking  in 
that  manner,  and  becoming  tired  of  waiting 
for  some  movement,  had  gone  to  see  what  was 
the  matter. 

It  was  some  days  after  his  arrival  before  it 
was  thought  best  to  give  him  a  chance  to  leave 
the  house.  But  one  evening  came  an  eclipse 
of  the  moon,  and  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  the  door  was  left  open  and  Titus  dis- 
appeared. Great  was  the  lamentation,  for  his 
domestication  had  already  advanced  so  far 
that  occasionally,  as  a  very  great  favor,  he 
would  permit  himself  to  be  touched.  We 
feared  that  he  had  returned  to  the  scenes  of 
his  childhood,  and  for  two  days  we  saw  noth- 
ing of  him.  Then  he  reappeared,  and  con- 
veyed to  Hickory  Ann's  mind  a  distinct  im- 
pression that  "  he  would  not  care  if  he  took 
some  milk."  Of  course  so  modest  a  request 
could  not  be  gainsaid,  and  the  beverage  was 
provided. 

After  it  was  absorbed  Titus  beamed  all 
over.  His  tail  stood  up  as  if  it  were  made  to 
bear  a  signal  pennant,  and  he  walked  around 
from  chair  to  chair  rubbing  against  the  legs, 
and  even  sometimes  ventured  within  the  reach 
of  his  human  acquaintances.  A  gentle  smooth- 

95 


TITUS    ANDRONICUS 

ing  of  the  trousers'  leg  with  the  hand  seemed 
to  affect  his  nerves  in  a  most  surprising  man- 
ner. He  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  me,  lay 
down  on  the  floor  and  drew  himself  along, 
rolled  over  and  even  permitted  me  to  stroke 
him  a  little,  especially  to  rub  his  ears.  But 
when  I  attempted  to  take  him  upon  my  knees 
he  was  highly  indignant.  He  made  it  quite 
clear  that  he  was  not  that  sort  of  a  cat,  and  he 
has  never  receded  from  his  attitude. 

For  a  little  while  after  this  first  absence  he 
occasionally  disappeared  for  a  day  or  two  at 
a  time,  but  he  always  returned  with  the  de- 
meanor of  one  who  felt  that  he  had  a  right  to 
his  place.  We  discovered  that  he  spent  many 
hours  under  the  porch  and  in  the  cellar,  and 
had  reason  to  believe  that  his  time  was  not 
misemployed,  for  the  mice,  which  had  been 
numerous,  gradually  disappeared,  not,  how- 
ever, and  alas!  without  serious  and  successful 
exploration  having  been  made  on  two  oc- 
casions to  discover  the  source  of  a  most  fla- 
grant perfume.  These  post-mortem  experi- 
ences were  not  to  be  desired. 

This  serious  work  accomplished,  Titus  re- 
laxed somewhat  in  the  severity  of  his  manners 
and  determined  to  enjoy  his  leisure.  The 
birds  around  the  cottage  are  very  numerous, 
drawn  thither  in  part  by  the  grass  seed  thickly 
sown  some  time  ago,  but  not  covered,  and 
waiting  for  the  rain  to  give  it  a  start.  I  fear 


TITUS    ANDRONICUS 

that  Tight  occasionally  stalks  this  small  game, 
and  indeed  I  sometimes  observe  him  stealthily 
creeping  over  the  lawn.  This  is  very  wrong 
of  him,  but  I  have  never  seen  him  do  any 
actual  damage,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  has  not 
succeeded  in  driving  the  birds  away.  Chip- 
ping sparrows  are  my  most  numerous  visitors, 
but  I  have  one  pair  of  beautiful  indigo  birds, 
together  with  catbirds  and  robins  and  various 
others;  and  the  bobolinks  are  singing  merrily 
around  me  all  day,  with  the  larks  and  the 
orioles  and  a  lot  more.  But  it  is  the  kitten's 
great  delight  to  lie  basking  on  the  warm  dry 
earth,  or  upon  the  cellar  door,  and  to  roll  over 
or  sprawl  out  and  invite  me  to  stroke  him  if  I 
appear  in  his  neighborhood.  He  has  quite  a 
fancy  for  coming  in  to  be  stroked  while  I  am 
at  the  tea-table,  and  to  try  each  one  of  the  legs 
of  the  chair  in  turn  to  find  out  which  feels 
the  most  comfortable. 

It  has  been  decreed  that  he  shall  spend  his 
nights  outside  the  house,  and  I  am  very  apt  to 
find  him  lying  upon  the  door-mat  when  I  step 
out  at  the  end  of  the  evening  to  see  whether 
there  is  any  prospect  of  rain.  Or  I  hear  some 
significant  sound  at  the  window  by  my  desk, 
and  looking  up  I  see  Titus  upon  the  ledge 
outside,  peering  in  and  watching  me  at  my 
work  or  catching  moths  as  they  flutter  against 
the  pane.  And  meantime  he  has  grown  older 
and  bigger  and  a  great  deal  smoother,  and  I 

97 


TITUS    ANDRONICUS 

am  afraid  that  if  he  should  now  encounter  any 
of  his  old  companions  of  the  barn,  he  would 
express  himself  disdainfully.  He  would  have 
to  do  it  silently,  however,  for  he  has  the  most 
ridiculous  little  miau  that  ever  you  heard. 


X 

RUMEX    AND    PLANTAGO 

SOME  there  are  who  despise  the  wild 
carrot,  and  some  who  cannot  endure 
the  daisy,  which  they  persist  in  calling 
whiteweed,    indignant   that   it   should 
masquerade — this     great,     sturdy     flaunting 
beauty — as  the  "  wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped 
flower."     And  some,  I  trow,  revile  the  butter 
and  eggs,  which  sounds  so  appetizing  and  nu- 
tritious.    The    despisers    of    "  pusley "     are 
numberless,  regardless  of  the  fleshlike  feeling 
of  its  stems  and  of  the  fact  that,  if  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  the  gardener  can  treat  it 
as  the  barbarian  does  the  missionary. 

But  I,  I  have  a  mortal  hatred  of  yellow 
dock  and  plantain.  What  vulgar  proletarians 
so  shameless  as  they?  How,  like  Paul  Pry, 
they  hope  they  don't  intrude,  and  then  plant 
themselves  in  the  path  so  that  it  is  impossible 
.to  escape  them.  They  precede  you  from  the 
highway  along  your  own  lane,  disdaining  not 
to  slink  in  the  wheel-tracks  or  under  the  horses' 
hoofs,  and  multiply  riotously  by  the  doorstep 
wherever  the  footfall  is  not  absolutely  con- 
stant. In  this  situation  Plantago  is  easily  the 

99 


RUMEX    AND    PLANTAGO 

more  obsequious.  Like  Uriah  Heep,  it  is  so 
'umble  that  no  crouching  can  be  too  mean 
for  it. 

Rumex,  on  the  contrary,  though  when  it 
will  it  can  penetrate  a  crust  of  clay  which 
seems  almost  like  sheet-iron,  is  well  content  to 
luxuriate  in  the  richest  soil  of  the  moist 
meadow,  remote  from  wheel  of  wagon  or  foot 
of  man  or  beast.  Give  it  but  a  chance,  and  it 
will  send  its  great  tapering  orange  root  far 
down  toward  the  subsoil,  and  carry  its  head 
high  in  the  air,  crowned  with  a  raceme  bearing 
innumerable  rusty  seeds,  which  it  will  dis- 
tribute freely  for  the  common  use. 

My  mountain  meadow  is  covered  with  a 
carpet  of  the  most  wonderful  green  grass,  the 
growth  from  last  Autumn's  sowing.  Among 
the  grass  there  are  several  million  buttercups, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  daisies  and  dandelions, 
which  I  shall  not  attempt  to  count.  But  I 
have  a  friendly  feeling  for  these,  and  am  quite 
ready  to  rejoice  in  their  blossoming.  I  feel  it 
a  personal  commendation  when  my  neighbor 
tells  me  that  the  daisies  make  very  good  hay. 
But  with  the  yellow  dock  it  is  war  to  the  knife. 
Either  it  must  go  or  I  must  go,  and  it  is  still 
an  open  question  which.  I  mean  to  enforce 
cloture,  but  I  have  reached  the  point  where  I 
see  that  I  cannot  do  this  single-handed. 

How  many  thousands  of  these  and  of  the 
plantains  I  have  already  disposed  of  I  cannot 

100 


RUMEX    AND    PLANTAGO 

say.  I  start  out  in  the  morning  armed  with  a 
sharp,  long-handled  weed-knife  and  circum- 
navigate the  cottage,  and  I  follow  the  drive- 
way out  to  the  road,  a  distance  of  several  hun- 
dred feet,  seeking  to  discrown  my  enemies 
wherever  seen.  And  then  I  retrace  my  steps, 
and  behold,  like  Minerva  sprung  full-armed 
from  the  brain  of  Jove,  they  instantly  plant 
themselves  again  in  the  pathway  along  which  I 
have  just  marched  in  the  role  of  a  conqueror. 

Have  they  sprung  into  being  since  my  pas- 
sage? Sometimes  I  think  that  they  have.  I 
know  that  they  can  appear  with  leaves  several 
inches  in  length  (I  speak  now  of  the  Rumex 
— the  yellow  dock)  within  an  interval  of  a 
very  few  hours.  The  leaves  have  probably 
been  well  developed  under  the  surface,  and 
suddenly  a  point  is  reached  where  they  have 
strength  and  elasticity  enough  to  throw  off  the 
superincumbent  soil.  But  in  most  instances 
their  appearance  is  merely  another  evidence  of 
the  inaccuracy  of  human  observation.  I 
looked,  but  I  did  not  see.  And  so  I  am  once 
more  cautioned  as  to  the  weakness  of  the  testi- 
mony of  my  senses,  and  can  only  console  my- 
self with  the  reflection  that,  weak  as  the 
testimony  is,  it  is  the  best  that  I  have. 

Coarse  and  obtrusive  and  objectionable  as 
Rumex  is,  I  am  sure  that  it  does  not  cause  me 
so  much  annoyance  as  Plantago.  The  very 
meek,  groveling  habit  of  this  wretch  is  his 

101 


RUMEX    AND    PLANTAGO 

worst  offense.  All  members  of  the  genus 
Rumex  are  not  equally  offensive;  the  sorrels, 
for  instance,  overgenerous  in  offering  their 
company  as  they  are,  do  much  to  entertain  by 
their  contribution  of  color  to  the  landscape. 
And  there  are  degrees  of  baseness  even  in 
Plantago;  but  for  the  Major,  who  may  be 
counted,  as  it  were,  the  head  of  the  family,  he 
can  best  apologize  for  himself  by  a  decorous 
silence.  The  most  that  can  be  said  for  him  is 
that  his  petioles  are  sometimes  beautiful  in 
color,  but  these  he  keeps  concealed. 


102 


XI 

—  AND    RHUS    TOXICODEN- 
DRON 

A  CRITIC  tells  me,  "  You  have  struck 
the  bucolic  philosopher's  note,  and  it 
twangs   acceptably,   but  why   don't 
you  make  a  chord  of  it?     Really, 
yellow  dock  and  plantain  are  hardly  worth 
writing  about  unless  you  reason  from  them  to 
humanity,  or  dogs  or  cats  or  sich." 

Now,  of  course,  this  is  open  to  more  than 
one  construction.  But  what  it  seems  most 
strongly  to  imply  is,  that  I  might  point  a 
moral  and  adorn  my  tale  by  designating  cer- 
tain classes  among  those  animals  indicated  in 
which  the  attributes  named  take  on  a  graphic 
character,  so  that  they  lend  themselves  to 
picturesque  description.  This  is  the  sophis- 
ticated citizen's  view.  The  bucolic  philos- 
opher, going  meditatively  upon  his  rounds, 
inhaling  occasionally  the  sweet  breath  of  kine, 
and  seeing  his  own  image  reflected  in  their 
mild  eyes,  viewing  the  clouds  softly  floating 
in  the  summer  sky,  and  the  new  leaves  lightly 
waving  in  the  breeze,  irrigating  his  parched 
acres  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  and  eating 

103 


'  —AND    RHUS    TOX. 

with  a  hearty  relish  his  "  Spare  feast,  a  radish 
and  an  egg,"  without  the  radish  and  with  an 
extra  egg  thrown  in  to  make  good  measure; 
the  bucolic  philosopher,  I  say,  is  content  to 
reflect  the  picture,  which  he  at  the  same 
moment  absorbs,  without  making  invidious 
comparisons.  But  the  perverted  citizen  sees 
in  these  harmless  manifestations  of  nature  an 
admirable  opportunity  for  the  castigation  of 
his  fellow-creatures,  bipedal  and  quadrupedal. 
Especially  is  he  critical  of  his  brother  man. 
But  what  is  the  fact  ?  The  other  day  I  had  a 
word  to  say  about  Rumex  and  Plantago — yel- 
low dock  and  plantain.  That  word  had  not 
reached  the  press,  when,  behold,  along  comes 
Homo  rumex  himself,  in  search  of  a  job.  A 
great,  hulking,  round-shouldered,  long-legged, 
slab-sided  boy,  with  slouched  hat  and  rusty 
coat,  looking  almost  as  shabby  as  myself. 
And  he,  at  a  word,  took  arms  against  a  sea  of 
yellow  docks,  and,  by  opposing,  ended  them. 
That  is,  he  ended  a  great  many  of  them,  inas- 
much as  whereas  two  days  ago  I  viewed  with 
dismay  the  rank  growth  overtopping  my  beau- 
tiful green  grass,  I  can  now  look  complacently 
across  the  velvet  slopes  and  feel  sure  that 
henceforth  the  field  is  mine. 

And  what  task,  think  you,  did  this  knight 
paladin  next  accept?  The  "Mountain 
Meadow,"  with  its  border  of  ledge  and  wood- 
land, near  the  northerly  end  of  which  the 

104 


—  AND    RHUS    TOX. 

cottage  has  been  erected,  contains  about  eight 
acres  and  is  bounded  upon  one  side  (next  the 
road)  by  an  old  rail  fence  standing  upon  the 
remnant  of  a  ruined  wall,  and  upon  two  other 
sides  by  loose  and  sprawling  walls  of  trap  and 
bowlders.  Among  these  moss-grown  stones, 
the  Rhus  toxicodendron — the  poison  ivy, 
poison  oak,  poison  vine,  or  mercury,  as  it  is 
here  called — has  intrenched  itself,  and  each 
year,  in  the  greatest  profusion,  it  greets  the 
advancing  Spring  with  its  delicate,  juicy  red 
triple  leaflets,  and  each  Autumn  borders  the 
field  with  a  phylactery  of  crimson  and  scarlet 
and  gold.  Now  it  is  said  that  the  stars  in 
their  courses  fought  against  Sisera,  and  when 
Mercury  is  in  the  ascendant  I  am  obliged  to 
avow  myself  one  of  the  vanquished.  It  was 
not  the  wind  that  overcame  the  sturdy  traveler, 
and  it  was  a  gnat  or  a  black  fly  or  a  mosquito 
or  something  of  that  sort  that  conquered  the 
king  of  beasts.  He  that  has  felt  the  irritation 
occasioned  by  the  poison  ivy  does  not  covet  a 
repetition  of  the  affliction.  I  happen  to  be  one 
of  those  subject  to  this  influence,  as  many  are, 
and  a  year  ago  I  hired  a  worthy  citizen,  who 
vowed  that  he  feared  it  not,  to  extirpate  the 
vine,  root  and  branch.  He  set  to  work 
valiantly,  but  the  next  day  I  noticed  that  he 
did  not  reappear,  and,  meeting  him  some  time 
later,  I  discovered  that  he  had  succumbed  to 
the  malign  influence,  and  thereafter  his  bash- 

105 


—  AND    RHUS    TOX. 

fulness  deterred  him  from  attempting  another 
interview. 

Now,  the  preux  chevalier  to  whom  I  have 
referred,  whom,  at  his  coming,  I  thought  to 
recognize  as  Homo  rumex,  has  "  tackled " 
this  job,  just  as  he  has  each  of  the  others  at 
which  I  have  put  him,  with  the  single  response, 
"  All  right,  Sir,"  and  since  the  middle  of  yes- 
terday afternoon  (I  do  not  mean  to  include 
the  night)  he  has  continued  it  with  dogged 
persistence.  He  has  not  suffered,  and  does 
not  think  that  he  will.  But  whether  he  will 
or  will  not,  he  adheres  to  his  undertaking  with 
a  constancy  that  ought  to  transfigure  him,  and, 
I  am  sure,  must  in  time.  I  shall  keep  my 
eyes  upon  him,  and  expect  one  day  to  see  a 
spiritual  efflorescence  manifesting  itself.  I  am 
afraid  that  it  will  be  indescribable  when  it 
comes,  so  you  must  not  expect  me  to  indicate 
it  by  courses  and  distances. 

But  about  that  moral.  I  do  not  quite  see 
how  I  can  get  it  in  now  without  letting  my 
readers  perceive  that  it  is  the  moral.  It  ought 
to  be  so  mixed  up  with  the  treacle  that  none 
could  distinguish  it,  and,  in  fine,  the  compound 
should  produce  so  excellent  an  impression  that 
those  who  absorb  it  should  one  and  all,  like 
Oliver,  cry  for  "  more." 

There  is  Homo  rumex,  and  there  are  also 
Homo  plantago  and  Homo  toxico.  We 
know  each  and  every  one  of  them.  For  the 

1 06 


—  AND    RHUS    TOX. 

species  Canis  and  Felis — that  is  another  story. 
"  And  sich."  Here  is  opened  a  wide  door. 
The  world  is  all  before  me  where  to  choose, 
and  were  you  to  follow  me,  I  should  lead  you 
far  afield. 

I  think  that  Homo  plantago  is  not  largely 
represented  in  this  country.  There  are  speci- 
mens to  be  found  from  time  to  time,  and  they 
are  nicely  fitted  for  preservation — their 
nature  well  adapted  them  for  pressing.  The 
trouble  with  these,  however,  as  with  many 
other  things  that  are  easily  handled,  is  that 
you  do  not  care  for  them. 

The  rough,  coarse  Homo  rumex,  however, 
grows  freely  in  our  soil.  In  fact,  there  is 
hardly  one  of  our  multifarious  climates  to 
which  he  does  not  seem  to  be  fitted,  and  in  his 
rank  growth  he  jostles  out  of  existence  so  many 
of  the  more  delicate  sort  that  one  can  hardly 
consider  him  as  other  than  a  common  pest. 
And  the  worst  of  it  is,  perhaps,  that  he  seeds 
so  freely  that,  whereas  the  finer  species  scarcely 
and  with  difficulty  hold  their  own  in  numbers, 
the  rumex  multiplies  with  great  rapidity  and 
is  in  danger  of  possessing  the  field,  if  the 
measures  that  I  have  here  adopted,  or  some 
other  "  equally  as  good,"  are  not  soon  applied. 

But  what  shall  I  say  of  Homo  toxico?  I 
think  that  he  is  not  so  much  a  rural  product 
(we  have  an  occasional  specimen  of  the  plan- 
tago and  our  fair  share  of  the  rumex)  but  the 

107 


—  AND    RHUS    TOX. 

air  of  cities  seems  to  suit  him  well.  In  New 
York,  especially,  he  multiplies  rapidly.  The 
police  have  much  to  do  with  him,  though  they 
rarely  collect  the  best  specimens,  but  it  has 
pained  me  to  notice  during  the  past  year  that 
he  seems  also  to  be  well  represented  upon  the 
police  force. 

Of  this  species  there  are  many  varieties,  and 
the  most  dangerous  are  not  always  those  that 
are  most  generally  recognized  as  such.  There 
are  some,  and  these  the  best  known,  whose 
poison  seems  mostly  superficial  in  its  effect. 
These  are  comparatively  harmless;  at  all 
events  they  are  easily  recognizable,  and  can  be 
guarded  against.  But  there  are  others  which 
grow  less  obtrusively,  being  almost  wholly 
concealed  among  innocuous  species,  whose 
virus  is  much  more  subtle  and  insidious ;  some- 
times acting  very  slowly  and  not  clearly  per- 
ceptible until  it  has  so  far  permeated  the  sys- 
tem as  to  be  ineradicable.  For  these,  only  one 
treatment  is  of  any  value.  They  must  be 
completely  rooted  out. 


108 


XII 
WISHES 

A\S!  for  the  vanity  of  human  ex- 
pectations! Johnson  said  "human 
wishes,"  but  he  was  "  away  off,"  as 
the  boys  have  it.  How  in  the  world 
are  we  to  get  along  without  the  use  of  slang 
in  this  day  and  generation  ?  To  be  sure,  some 
of  us  to  whom  it  is  not  wholly  familiar  are 
likely  to  bring  it  in  on  inappropriate  occasions, 
like  the  minister  of  a  certain  church,  which 
shall  be  nameless,  who  a  few  years  ago  spoke 
from  his  pulpit  of  one  who  had  "  gone  where 
the  woodbine  twineth."  He  meant  well,  and 
the  expression  is  certainly  poetical  enough  in 
form  to  be  appropriate,  and  may  now  have 
become  classical,  but  at  the  time  and  under  the 
circumstances  it  was  not  deemed  so  by  his 
hearers,  and  the  use  of  it  did  not  promote 
decorum  in  the  church.  But  slang  forms  the 
small  change  in  popular  language,  a  sort  of 
token  currency,  and  often  presents  to  the  mind 
a  picture,  allegorical  it  may  be,  which  attains 
distinctness  at  small  cost.  The  temptation  to 
use  it  is  at  times  almost  irresistible,  and  in 
fact  its  use  is  not  infrequently,  as  in  the 

109 


WISHES 

instance  above  referred  to,  quite  uncon- 
scious. 

Alas!  I  say,  for  the  vanity  of  human  ex- 
pectations! Another  victim  has  been  sacri- 
ficed in  the  good  cause  of  ridding  the  world  of 
noxious  elements,  and  as  the  propitiatory  pile 
increases,  my  hopes  of  early  success  become 
more  faint.  My  kinglet  of  the  verdant  mead, 
the  pseudo  Homo  rumex,  who  valiantly  at- 
tacked a  doughty  foe,  and  so  quickly  proved 
that  he  was  a  (very  unassuming)  prince  in 
disguise,  who  for  a  time  sustained  his  cause 
with  pertinacity,  was,  I  am  sorry  to  be  forced 
to  say,  subdued  at  last,  and  driven  from  the 
field,  a  vanquished  hero.  His  bravery  was  in 
vain;  the  foul  fiend — Rhus  toxicodendron — 
"  got  him,"  and  so  are  the  mighty  fallen.  I 
am  compelled  to  see  myself  as  in  a  vision, 
calling  upon  my  hardy  neighbors  one  by  one, 
and  sending  them  forth  to  do  battle  with  the 
dragon  that  lies  waiting  along  my  borders, 
only  to  behold  them  one  by  one  prostrated 
before  it,  victims  to  its  fiery  breath. 

I  have  a  standing  controversy,  good-humored 
it  is  true,  with  my  neighbor,  the  Baroness, 
over  the  merits  and  demerits  of  dear  old 
Mother  Nature,  into  whose  hands  we  have 
been  delivered.  She  draws  for  me  horrible 
pictures  of  the  manner  in  which  the  old  lady — 
I  think  she  considers  her  a  sort  of  harridan — 
roasts  us  and  stews  us,  scarifies  us  and  drowns 

1 10 


WISHES 

us  by  turns  in  purely  malignant  delight.  And 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  find  her  spreading  for 
us  velvet  carpets  all  decked  with  flowers,  cool- 
ing our  brows  with  gentle  zephyrs,  wafting 
to  us  fragrant  odors,  whispering  to  us  the 
sweetest  melodies  and  harmonies,  unfolding 
before  us  glorious  visions  in  the  upper  air,  such 
cloud-capp'd  towers  and  gorgeous  palaces  and 
solemn  temples  as  ne'er  were  based  upon  the 
solid  earth,  revealing  to  our  inner  eye 

"  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land; 
The  consecration,  and  the  poet's  dream." 

And  so  we  go  on  our  allotted  paths,  seeing 
ofttimes,  it  may  be,  the  picture  that  is  behind 
the  retina,  rather  than  that  which  is  reflected 
upon  it. 

"  The  vanity  of  human  wishes."  But  are 
they  indeed  vain?  I  am  disposed  to  contest 
the  point.  It  is  an  old  proverb,  usually  quoted 
in  a  somewhat  contemptuous  tone,  "If  wishes 
were  horses,  beggars  would  ride."  But 
wishes  are  horses,  and  beggars — I  suppose 
that  we  are  all  of  us  beggars  in  some  sort — 
do  ride  upon  them  into  all  kinds  of  beautiful 
regions.  It  is  true  that  sometimes,  with  loose 
or  with  taut  rein,  we  may  ride  to  the — but  no, 
we  never  mention  him.  There  are  indeed 
labyrinthine  paths  of  dalliance,  through 
which  these  docile  steeds  may  oft  meander, 
which  lead  to  Castle  Dangerous  and  the  dread 

in 


WISHES 

abode  of  Giant  Despair.  I  suppose  that  we 
cannot  travel  by  any  conveyance  without  a 
certain  risk  of  disaster,  and  that  our  accident 
policies  will  not  always  save  us.  Perhaps  it 
may  be  necessary  to  have  even  our  wishes  put 
through  a  sort  of  civil-service  examination 
before  we  intrust  our  welfare  to  their  keeping. 
A  competitive  examination  might  be  best,  but 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  in  this  instance  a 
pass  examination  may  serve. 

Where  would  modern  civilization  be  if  this 
great  cavalcade  had  never  started?  I  fear 
still  in  the  limbo  of  nothingness.  He  that  has 
no  wish  upon  which  to  ride  perhaps  may  fear 
no  fall,  but  likewise  he  need  anticipate  no 
rise.  How  horribly  dull  and  dispiriting  is  the 
even  tenor  of  his  way!  In  my  brief  time  I 
have  done  something  in  the  way  of  pedestrian- 
ism,  and  I  remember  well  how  upon  a  jaunt 
of  half  a  dozen  miles  over  a  level  Long  Island 
plain,  ever  the  same  straight  road  stretching 
before  me,  ever  the  same  flat  fields  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left,  ever  the  same  low  tree-covered 
hill  in  the  distance,  the  spirit  became  relaxed 
and  the  muscles  flabby,  and  the  whole  man 
wearied  of  the  monotony. 

And  then  I  remember  another  day's  tramp 
from  Northampton  across  the  Berkshire  Hills, 
and  how  the  road  climbed  and  fell,  surmount- 
ing breezy  hilltops,  as  those  highways  always 
do  (for  their  builders  do  not  seem  to  have 

112 


WISHES 

learned  that  the  bale  of  a  pot  is  no  longer 
when  it  is  lying  down  than  when  it  is  standing 
up),  and  dipping  down  into  cool  and  shady 
dells.  And  I  remember  that  when  I  became 
an  hungered  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  I 
stopped  at  a  wayside  shop  and  bought  some 
crackers.  And  those  crackers!  I  knew  just 
as  surely  that  they  were  a  remnant  of  the  sup- 
plies brought  over  in  the  Mayflower  as  though 
some  deponent  had  solemnly  stated  the  fact  to 
me  "  on  information  and  belief."  If  the 
grinders  had  then  been  few,  they  would  cer- 
tainly have  ceased  from  their  labors  long  be- 
fore nature  had  been  so  far  restored  as  to  be 
able  to  continue  in  as  cheerful  a  spirit  as  that 
in  which  she  had  begun. 

And  then  Peru  church  was  passed,  and  the 
place  of  the  dividing  of  the  waters,  for  tradi- 
tion had  it  that  the  rain  that  fell  upon  one 
side  of  the  roof  sought  the  sea  by  way  of  the 
winding  Housatonic,  and  that  which  fell  upon 
the  other  reached  the  same  all-embracing  recep- 
tacle upon  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Connecticut. 

And  always  there  was  a  higher  summit  to 
which  to  aspire,  or  a  deeper  valley  or  shadier 
glen  to  explore,  and  the  sun  sank  lower  and 
lower,  as  Hinsdale  and  Dalton  and  Pittsfield, 
in  turn,  fell  behind,  and  had  only  just  gone 
safely  to  rest  when  the  hills  of  Lenox  opened 
to  receive  me,  still  far  from  being  either  a 
physical  or  a  spiritual  wreck. 


WISHES 

Yes,  I  can  conscientiously  speak  a  good 
word  for  the  favorite  charger  upon  which  the 
world  has  ridden  this  many  a  day.  He  needs 
careful  training,  and  la  haute  ecole  is  none  too 
good  for  him.  He  can  be  taught  all  manner 
of  gaits  provided  for  in  the  menage,  the 
piaffer,  the  traverse,  the  demivolte,  but  the 
great  danger  is  that  he  will  too  naturally  and 
constantly  be  found  traveling  terre-a-terre. 
Let  him  be  well  looked  after,  and  let  his  rider 
always  keep  him  well  in  hand  (and  nobody 
has  any  business  upon  a  horse's  back  who  is 
not  ready  to  conform  to  these  conditions),  and 
a  more  kind,  companionable,  and  serviceable 
steed  is  not  to  be  found. 

The  vanity  of  human  wishes,  indeed!  Ex- 
cept it  be,  as  the  preacher  saith,  that  all  is 
vanity,  I  would  fain  believe  that  it  is  that 
which  men  most  ardently  wish  for  that  is  often 
the  saving  element  in  their  lives. 


114 


XIII 
THE    MINERS 

WITH  the  thermometer  at  eighty- 
five  in  the  shade,  I  find  myself 
not  in  the  shade  but  in  the  sunr 
too  much   absorbed  in  watching 
the  busiest  set  of  workmen  I  have  recently 
seen  to  seek  the  inviting  shelter  close  at  hand. 
Fortunately,    a    gentle    but    constant    breeze 
somewhat  tempers  the  unseemly  heat,  and  it 
is  permitted,  at  this  time  in  the  afternoon  and 
at  this  distance  from  the  highway,  to  discard 
that  outer  garment  which  men  most  do  affect 
in  polite  circles. 

As  I  think  I  have  already  stated,  the 
veranda  faces  northwest,  and  its  timbers  are 
of  rustic  cedar.  In  front  lies  one  of  the 
loveliest  valleys  that  lovely  New  England  can 
show,  now  juicy  green  with  the  fresh  summer 
foliage,  tempered  here  and  there  with  the 
golden  yellow  of  innumerable  buttercups. 
Birds  in  great  numbers  flit  across  from  mo- 
ment to  moment,  and  the  air  is  full  of  their 
notes,  the  Baltimore  orioles,  the  robins,  and 
the  bobolinks  keeping  up  an  untiring  refrain 
from  morning  until  night.  The  bobolink  has 


THE    MINERS 

a  bright  and  rather  elaborate  song,  for  which 
one  cannot  very  readily  find  words.  The 
oriole,  according  to  one  of  my  neighbors,  says, 
"  Philip,  Philip,  is  your  nest  ready  ?  "  Last 
year  it  was,  rather  unseasonably,  "  Philip, 
Philip,  are  the  chestnuts  ripe?  " 

Beyond  the  valley  the  distant  hills,  rising 
tier  after  tier,  seem  to  float  in  the  haze  into 
which  they  finally  fade  away  on  the  horizon. 
To  the  left  lies  the  undulating  mountain 
meadow  stretching  southward  and  westward 
to  the  old  highway — a  perfect  sea  of  green  and 
gold,  which  Madam  Magnusson  told  me  a 
few  days  ago  was  the  very  picture  of  an  Ice- 
landic valley.  I  do  not  know  what  thought 
could  be  more  comforting  as  I  sit  in  the  torrid 
heat  with  my  back  turned  to  Phoebus — not  in 
any  sense  of  disrespect,  but  partly  that  my 
broad  hat  may  shade  my  paper  and  partly 
that  I  may  the  more  comfortably  watch  my 
little  band  of  miners. 

Perhaps  you  are  curious  to  know  who  these 
may  be.  I  have  said  that  the  timbers  of  the 
veranda  are  of  rustic  cedar. 

This  morning,  as  I  made  my  usual  round  to 
see  how  my  vines,  my  rosebushes,  and  other 
ventures  were  progressing,  I  discovered  the 
miners.  Some  days  earlier  I  had  noticed  a 
sprinkling  of  sawdust,  as  I  thought  it,  near  the 
pier  which  supports  the  post  on  the  west  cor- 
ner, stupidly  forgetting,  as  one  will,  that  no 

116 


THE    MINERS 

carpenter  had  worked  there  for  several 
months.  I  now  saw  the  actual  artificers 
busily  employed.  Entering  a  crack  where  the 
trunk  had,  as  it  were,  been  folded  together,  a 
party  of  large  black  ants  have  taken  pos- 
session, and,  public  holiday  though  it  be,  they 
are  working  with  might  and  main,  construct- 
ing what  mysterious  winding  passages  within 
I  know  not,  and  can  only  surmise. 

The  crack  had  been  widened  slightly  at  the 
foot  of  the  post,  especially  close  to  the  floor, 
but  not  to  a  breadth  of  more  than  an  eighth 
of  an  inch.  Beginning  at  a  point  about  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  higher,  it  has  been  again 
widened  for  about  an  inch  in  height.  Be- 
tween these  openings  it  would  appear  that  a 
floor  has  been  left,  but  the  work  of  excavation 
goes  on  upon  both  levels,  though  mainly  upon 
the  second*  One  after  another  the  little 
workmen  run  out  to  the  entrance  with  their 
mandibles  full  of  sawdust,  drop  it  in  the  outer 
passage,  and  return  to  the  interior.  Of  course 
I  cannot  identify  them,  unmarked,  and  I  do 
not  know  whether  the  same  workers  who  are 
engaged  in  the  transportation  also  do  the 
excavating.  But  I  know  that,  as  the  material 
accumulates  at  the  entrance,  from  time  to  time 
a  party  come  out  and  remove  it  therefrom. 
Of  these  some  appear  more  conscientious  and 
much  better  workmen  than  others.  A  few 
merely  carry  the  material  two  or  three  inches 

117 


THE    MINERS 

and  then  leave  it  lying  upon  the  floor.  So 
far  as  I  have  observed,  all  that  do  this  are 
small,  and  therefore  probably  young.  But  the 
others  know  no  half-way  measures.  Taking  a 
good  mouthful  or  armful — sometimes  it  seems 
both — they  run  out  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda, 
a  distance  of  only  about  six  inches,  drop  their 
load  to  the  ground  whence  there  is  no  danger 
of  its  return,  and  then  go  back  for  another 
cargo.  While  returning  they  occasionally 
notice  the  material  scattered  untidily  by  the 
others,  and  carefully  remove  it. 

When  I  revisited  the  scene  of  operations 
after  my  first  observation,  I  found  the  boards 
quite  clear,  excepting  at  the  entrance.  I 
questioned  Hickory  Ann  as  to  whether  she  had 
been  sweeping  there,  and,  finding  that  she  had 
not,  concluded  that  the  busy  little  intruders 
had  been  doing  it  themselves.  I  was  probably 
mistaken,  however.  The  breeze  had  slightly 
changed  its  direction,  and  had,  I  think,  per- 
formed this  service  for  them.  I  imagine  that 
the  ants  perceived  this,  for  afterward,  while 
I  watched,  they  appeared  to  place  considerable 
reliance  upon  this  sort  of  aid  in  the  disposal 
of  their  debris. 

Hickory  Ann  proposes  to  rout  the  invaders 
with  a  pitcher  of  hot  water,  at  which  I  am 
horrified.  Of  what  account  is  the  security  of 
the  cottage  when  compared  with  that  of  such 
an  industrious  family? 

118 


THE    MINERS 

POSTSCRIPTUM 

Perhaps  the  hard-headed  common  sense  of 
Hickory  Ann's  suggestion  should  have  been 
regarded,  after  all.  Certain  it  is  that  the 
black  warriors  now  march  and  countermarch 
over  the  veranda  floor;  they  have  invaded  the 
keeping-room;  they  cast  longing  eyes  on  the 
sugar-bowl;  they  have  climbed  the  golden 
stairs  and  intruded  into  the  halls  of  repose.  It 
is  true  that  I  do  not  "  reckon  up  by  dozens  " 
the  advancing  host,  but  only  here  and  there 
meet  solitary  adventurers — free-lances  in  ap- 
pearance— and  these  are  at  once  tried  by 
'drumhead  court  martial,  with  the  usual  re- 
sult :  they  meet  a  spy's  fate,  and  are  mercilessly 
executed.  But  how  do  I  know  that  they  are 
not  acting  systematically  under  sealed  orders, 
that  a  lodgment  has  not  already  been  effected 
in  the  very  heart  of  my  citadel — not  merely  an 
outpost  captured — and  that  the  day  is  not 
already  named  for  my  deposition? 


119 


XIV 
COMIN'  THRO'  THE  RYE 

YOU  should  have  seen  them — don't 
you  wish  that  you  had  ?  There  was 
Phollis  of  course, — bct3  berfte^t  fid), 
cela  va  sans  dire, — but  where  was 
Phillis?  And  there  was  lolanthe, — it  was 
her  party;  and  there  too  were  Arabella 
and  Araminta,  and  Nicolette,  Guinevere, 
Elaine,  Bonnie  Lesly,  St.  Cecilia,  Airy-fairy 
Lilian,  Lady  Psyche,  Cinderella,  Andromeda, 
Galatea,  Atalanta,  and  Briinhilde,  and  a 
dozen  others,  all  trigged  out  as  if  Kate  Green- 
away,  or  Walter  Crane,  or  somebody  else 
"  equally  as  good  "  had  been  their  tiring 
servant.  And  it  wasn't  rye  at  all,  only  good 
honest  grass  in  which  they  waded  up  to  their 
waists.  For  the  sun  was  just  hiding  in  the 
clouds  before  it  should  sink  behind  the  western 
mountains,  and  the  path  had  lost  itself  among 
the  tall  stems  which  conspired  to  hide  it. 
And  so  with  dulcimer  and  sackbut  and 
psaltery  and  harp,  in  broken  lines  they  madft 
their  way  amid  the  thick  greenery  over  the 
gentle  slopes  which  lie  between  the  highway 

120 


COMIN'THRO'THERYE 

and  the  cottage,  and  I  thought  that  I  had 
never  in  my  life  seen  a  fairer  sight. 

Even  though  one  may  have  fallen  into  the 
sere  and  yellow  leaf,  or  perchance  may  have 
gone  still  farther,  so  that  all  the  branches  are 
gray  and  bare,  and  naught  appears  to  the  eye 
but  chill  and  hoary  winter,  yet  it  is  sometimes 
warm  under  the  snow,  and  there  may  even 
there  be  a  throb  responsive  to  the  pulses  which 
still  beat  in  the  upper  air,  where  the  sun  shines 
and  the  birds  sing. 

"  Now  came  still  evening  on,  and  twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad." 

'1  he  rainbow  hues  of  sunset  did  not  tint  the 
curtains  of  night  for  the  little  fete ;  but  shad- 
ows crept  softly  over  the  hills  and  settled 
down  upon  the  verdant  slopes.  It  was  the 
month  of  roses,  and  the  sun  had  poured  itself 
into  the  blossoms  and  into  the  berries,  until 
they  fairly  filled  the  air  with  their  sweetness. 

My  guests  swarmed  through  the  rooms  and 
out  upon  the  loggia;  and  some  strayed  to  the 
place  where  the  little  chickens  said  peep !  peep ! 
and  some  went  down  by  the  pools  where  the 
frogs  sang  ditto.  And  then  as  the  darkness 
gathered,  they  all  settled  upon  the  veranda 
rail  and  upon  the  steps  and  upon  the  floor  in 
groups  which  brought  sunlight  into  the 
shadows  of  night,  and  merry  laughter  alter- 
nated with  vibrating  strings  and  choral  song. 

121 


COMIN'  THRO'  THE  RYE 

And  I  am  sure  that  the  scribe  was  not  the  only 
one  who  regretted  it,  when  the  curfew 
sounded,  and  in  a  rambling  line  these  bright- 
hued  birds  of  passage  disappeared  in  the  dark- 
ness. 


122 


XV 

KICKING   AS   A   FINE   ART 

DID  you  eve-  see  a  hay  tedder  at 
work?  It  is  really  the  most  ridic- 
ulous-looking of  modern  agricul- 
tural machines,  but  it  "  does  the 
business."  If  you  have  not  seen  it,  you  are  to 
imagine  a  grasshopper  made  of  wood  and  iron, 
and  withal  a  sidewheeler.  The  farmer  or  the 
farmer's  man  hitches  his  horses  to  this  affair, 
and,  mounting  into  a  comfortable  seat  atop, 
gravely  drives  to  and  fro  over  the  hay  field, 
with  the  machine's  ungainly  legs  kicking  out 
behind  him,  and  tossing  into  the  air  the  new- 
mown  hay.  I  challenge  you  to  make  your 
first  observation  of  the  performance  with  a 
sober  countenance.  It  will  be  as  difficult  as 
it  was  for  the  members  of  the  whistling  class 
to  begin  their  exercises  properly  when  they 
heard  the  injunction,  "  Prepare  to  pucker." 

But  you  will  not  have  watched  the  opera- 
tion many  minutes  ere  you  will  be  filled  with 
admiration  at  its  effectiveness,  and  disposed  to 
give  due  meed  of  praise  to  the  man  who  thus 
so  ingeniously  utilized  the  gentle  art  of  kick- 
ing. To  be  sure,  it  is  not  so  picturesque  a 

123 


KICKING   AS   A   FINE   ART 

sight  as  the  old-fashioned  one  of  a  party  of 
men  and  boys  and  girls  going  through  the  field 
with  pitchforks,  and  spreading  the  hay  with 
these,  but  it  is  much  less  exhausting,  and 
then,  in  that  prosaic  ride,  what  dreams  may 
come! 

In  our  little  village  we  have  just  had  a 
sample  of  kicking  of  another  sort,  but  as  bril- 
liantly successful.  Perhaps  I  have  before  re- 
marked that  this  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
villages  in  New  England :  not  a  village  out  of 
a  bandbox,  combed  and  brushed  and  set  in 
order  every  morning,  and  with  no  sprig  of 
clematis  or  branch  of  wild  rose  ever  permitted 
to  wander  from  its  place,  but  a  real  old-fash- 
ioned New  England  'village,  with  its  tree- 
shaded  streets  and  its  grassy  banks,  on  which 
the  daisies  dare  to  grow,  with  here  and  there  a 
spick-and-span  lawn,  with  dark  evergreens  and 
drooping  shrubbery  and  carefully  groomed 
footpaths. 

The  village  lies  upon  a  side  hill.  As  I 
have  elsewhere  remarked,  its  Main  Street  is 
nearly  a  mile  in  length,  quite  narrow,  and 
with  the  houses  upon  one  side  in  many  places 
considerably  higher  than  those  upon  the  other, 
the  one  side  being  usually  raised  upon  a  bank, 
the  other  lower  than  the  level  of  the  roadway. 
At  some  distance  on  either  side  is  another 
street,  running  nearly  parallel,  one  of  them, 
however,  for  but  a  short  distance;  and  there 

124 


KICKING   AS   A   FINE   ART 

are  several  lanes  crossing  from  the  Main 
Street  to  the  "  New  Street,"  nearer  the  river. 
Our  famous  school  occupies  a  number  of  old 
dwellings,  scattered  along  on  either  side  of 
Main  Street,  and  other  buildings  upon  the 
road  which  mounts  the  hill  toward  Under- 
ledge. 

A  year  ago  the  new  monster — the  "  trol- 
ley " — made  its  appearance  in  our  neighbor- 
hood, and  with  many  misgivings  we  permitted 
it  to  pass  along  our  northern  border  on  its 
way  to  a  neighboring  manufacturing  village, 
which  is  situated  within  the  limits  of  the  same 
town,  and  which,  like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea, 
we  are  unable  to  shake  off.  Our  interests  are 
diverse  and  we  are  unequally  yoked  together. 
We  wish  a  divorce  a  vinculo  matrimonii,  but 
our  affectionate  partner  does  not  desire  it,  and 
there  we  rest. 

Well,  ever  since  the  iron  rails  were  laid  we 
have  had  rumors  that  an  effort  was  to  be  made 
to  run  a  branch  line  down  through  our  Main 
Street,  for  the  purpose  of  connecting  with 
towns  to  the  southwest  of  us.  No  such  state- 
ments have  been  made  by  those  representing 
the  railway  company  to  those  who  were  op- 
posed to  such  a  movement ;  indeed,  the  charter 
was  obtained  in  the  form  in  which  it  stands 
upon  the  distinct  pledge  that  no  effort  was  to 
be  made  to  use  that  route.  But  there  are  a 
few  persons  upon  the  street,  and  others  in  the 

125 


KICKING   AS   A   FINE   ART 

village,  who,  for  reasons  best  known  to  them- 
selves, and  which  they  variously  express,  desire 
that  that  route  should  be  used,  and  no  other, 
and  these  have  been  assured  that  they  should 
not  be  disappointed. 

At  present  the  decision  as  to  the  route  rests 
with  the  Selectmen,  and  we  have  reason  to 
believe  that  a  majority,  at  least,  of  the  present 
Selectmen  realize  the  absurdity — nay,  the 
criminality — of  building  a  trolley  line  along 
the  Main  Street.  Their  term,  however,  ex- 
pires in  the  coming  October. 

Being  fully  aware  of  the  principle  which  led 
many  good  people  to  be  willing  to  send  all 
their  brothers-in-law  to  the  war,  and  feeling 
satisfied  that  we  could  not  rely  implicitly  upon 
the  altruistic  sentiment  controlling  the  votes 
of  our  good  neighbors  in  Unionville,  ten  days 
ago  we  drafted  a  bill  exempting  one  mile  of 
the  Main  Street  of  Farmington  from  use  for 
trolley  purposes,  and  placed  the  same  in  the 
hands  of  the  legislative  Joint  Committee  on 
Railroads,  which  appointed  a  hearing  on  Tues- 
day of  last  week,  and  another  on  the  following 
day.  Our  people  were  fully  aroused,  and  men 
and  women  alike,  married  and  single,  doctors, 
and  mechanics,  and  farmers,  and  what  not,  to 
the  extent  of  two  or  three  score,  who  had 
never  before  taken  part  in  such  a  proceeding, 
appeared  at  the  Capitol  and  testified  to  the 
faith  that  was  in  them.  A  very  large  majority 

126 


KICKING   AS   A   FINE   ART 

of  the  residents  and  of  the  property  upon  the 
Main  Street  were  represented,  and  many  ap- 
peared for  other  parts  of  the  village. 

Competent  counsel  spoke  for  us,  but  it  was 
the  plain  words  of  the  plain  people  upon  which 
we  relied.  We  were  doubtless  aided  by  the 
ludicrous  exhibition  made  upon  the  other  side, 
and  by  attacks  directed  at  a  certain  scribbling 
settler  of  recent  date  for  trying  to  deprive  old 
residents  of  their  privileges.  However  that 
may  be,  the  committee  volunteered  to  inspect 
the  ground  in  person,  and  did  so  thoroughly, 
under  the  guidance  of  those  representing  both 
sides,  and  then  reported  the  bill  unanimously. 
It  was  passed  the  same  day  by  the  Senate  with- 
out opposition,  and  th*e  following  day  by  the 
House  by  a  vote  of  130  to  30,  and  we  felt 
that  we  had  won  the  battle. 

But  eternal  vigilance  is  the  price  of  liberty 
(I  believe  that  I  have  heard  some  such  re- 
mark), and,  though  our  Legislature  meets 
only  biennially,  we  are  quite  prepared  for  an 
effort  to  reverse  the  action  just  taken  and  to 
repeal  the  bill.  We  have  learned  to  act  to- 
gether, however,  and  we  do  not  intend  to  lose 
the  advantage  of  position  which  we  have 
gained. 

Is  it  not  about  time  that  other  communities 
realized  that  they  have  some  rights  that  are 
worth  protecting?  that  it  takes  a  very  brief 
period  to  destroy  charms  which  it  has  taken 

127, 


KICKING   AS   A  FINE   ART 

generations  to  confer?  and  that  certain  kinds 
of  damage,  once  effected,  can  never  be  re- 
paired ?  Let  us  have  a  revival  of  public  spirit 
in  these  matters,  and  be  ready  to  challenge 
every  attempt  on  the  part  of  money-making 
corporations  to  trample  upon  private  rights, 
and  to  destroy  natural  beauty,  until  it  is  con- 
clusively shown  that  what  is  demanded  is 
strictly  in  the  public  interest,  and  that  the 
advantage  desired  cannot  be  attained  in  any 
other  way. 

The  new  electric-railway  system  is  a  great 
convenience,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  it  may 
prove  of  great  practical  utility.  But  there  are 
good  ways  and  bad  ways  of  doing  a  good 
thing,  and  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  dignity 
and  beauty  are  of  value  as  well  as  cheapness 
and  speed,  and  that  the  integrity  of  private 
rights  is  the  first  essential  to  every  member  of 
the  community,  be  he  poor  or  be  he  rich. 
While  private  comfgrt  must  yield  to  public 
necessity  when  the  necessity  is  shown,  it  is 
always  safe  to  ask  in  any  particular  case 
whether  that  which  masquerades  under  the 
garb  of  public  necessity  be  not  in  fact  private 
greed. 

Our  highways  have  been  constructed  at  a 
great  expense  to  the  public,  for  the  public  use. 
When  a  private  corporation  asks  the  right  to 
appropriate  them  for  the  purpose  of  making 
money,  it  is  the  first  duty  of  sensible  citizens  to 

128 


KICKING   AS   A   FINE   ART 

inquire  whether  this  right  can  be  given  with- 
out serious  inconvenience  to  the  dwellers 
thereon,  and  to  the  public  for  whom  the  high- 
ways were  constructed,  and  next  whether 
there  is  no  other  method  or  route  by  which 
what  is  needed  may  be  accomplished  without 
the  inconvenience  or  damage  sure  to  be  en- 
tailed by  the  course  proposed. 

Do  I  hear  someone  saying,  "  Avast  such 
sordid  details  of  humdrum  vulgar  affairs: 
what  have  trolley  railway  corporations  and 
legislative  committees  to  do  with  literature? 
Let  us  hear  of  robber  barons,  and  of  knights 
errant,  and  of  tall  and  slender  and  graceful 
maidens,  and  of  their  release  from  the  clutch 
of  horrible  dragons."  Well,  the  point  seems 
to  be  aptly  made  and  yet  I  am  not  quite  sure. 
I  wonder  whether  in  the  actual  occurrence  the 
descent  of  the  robber  baron  upon  the  peaceful 
village,  and  the  laying  waste  of  homes,  and  the 
destruction  of  familiar  objects,  for  the  personal 
profit  of  the  marauder,  were  any  less  prosaic  to 
the  sufferers  at  the  time,  or  any  more  attract- 
ive in  their  consequences,  than  the  banding 
together  of  men  into  corporate  bodies  for  the 
purpose  of  attaining  certain  profitable  ends, 
regardless  of  the  individual  rights  which  must 
first  be  trampled  upon,  of  the  destruction  of 
the  privacy  of  their  victims,  of  their  convenient 
access  to  their  homes,  of  cherished  beauty  of 
surroundings  which  has  required  hundreds  of 

129 


KICKING   AS   A   FINE   ART 

years  of  loving  care  to  develop  and  protect? 
Or  whether  the  old-time  appeal  of  the  vil- 
lagers of  the  overlord  for  defense  against  the 
rapacity  of  the  pillagers  was  any  more  heroic 
or  poetic,  in  fact,  than  its  modern  equivalent 
of  an  appeal  to  the  legislature  against  the 
brigands  of  this  time,  whose  nefarious  enter- 
prises are  frequently  carried  through  under 
color  of  statute  law?  Were  the  wives  and 
maidens  of  old  more  worth  saving  than  the 
wives  and  maidens  of  to-day  who  sought  for 
deliverance  according  to  my  story?  Or  is 
there  anything  more  poetic  in  a  monster  with 
glaring  eyes,  and  huge  jaws  and  teeth,  and 
sharp  claws,  and  slippery  scales,  than  in  a 
corporation  bearing  the  explicit  or  implied 
authority  of  the  State  through  a  skillfully 
devised  charter,  by  which  the  rights  of  the 
many  can  be  manipulated  so  as  to  promote  the 
advantage  of  the  few? 

Picturesqueness  seems  to  follow  ruin,  and 
I  suppose  that  the  accent  of  age  is  requisite  to 
touch  with  romance  the  struggles  of  to-day. 
But  age  draws  on  apace,  and  one  day  even  the 
things  of  the  present  will  be  old.  This  record 
will  then  be  buried  in  oblivion,  but  not,  let  us 
trust,  the  freedom  and  the  beauty  for  which 
man  are  struggling  to-day,  as  they  struggled  in 
the  times  that  are  past. 

"  Finally,  brethren,  whatsoever  things  are 
true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever 

130 


KICKING   AS  'A  FINE  ART 

things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are  pure, 
whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever 
things  are  of  good  report:  if  there  be  any  vir- 
tue, and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on  these 
things." 


XVI 

PROVE  ALL  THINGS;  HOLD 
FAST  THAT  WHICH  IS 
GOOD 

THE  man  or  woman  who  carelessly 
or    unnecessarily    destroys    natural 
beauty  is  still  a  barbarian,  whatever 
be  the  nationality,  social  position,  or 
wealth  of  which  he  or  she  may  boast.     It  is 
time  that  the  American  people  should  wake  up 
to  a  realization  of  this. 

It  is  true  that  we  are  still  very  young.  As 
a  people  we  are  only  about  three  hundred  years 
old  and  as  a  nation  we  are  little  more  than 
one  hundred,  but  it  would  seem  that  even  the 
short  period  of  three  hundred  years  might  be 
sufficient  in  which  to  overcome  the  rawness  of 
youth,  to  acquire  some  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful  as  well  as  the  showy  or  useful,  some 
knowledge  of  and  love  for  the  refinements  of 
life,  some  perception  of  the  fact  that  while 
that  which  is  the  work  of  fine  art  is  good,  that 
which  comes  first-hand  from  the  supernal 
powers  is  sometimes  good  also. 

"  Even  that  art  which  you  say  adds  to  nature, 
Is  an  art  that  nature  makes." 

132 


PROVE    ALL    THINGS 

And  you  may  safely  trust  her  to  do  many 
things  nobly  without  your  intervention. 

The  American  people  are  a  "  hustling " 
people.  Now  hustling  is  a  good  thing  in  its 
place,  provided  that  even  in  that  place  you 
cannot  have  a  better,  but  it  is  a  very  bad  thing 
when  out  of  place.  One  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful objects  that  is  ever  seen  is  a  soap  bubble, 
but  a  soap  bubble  cannot  be  made  by  hustling. 
Yet  hustling  can  very  quickly  destroy  it.  A 
noble  elm  may  take  a  hundred  years  to  build,  a 
noble  oak  five  hundred,  but  a  hustler  can 
destroy  either  of  them  in  a  day.  A  roadside 
left  to  the  care  of  the  rain  and  the  wind  and 
the  sun,  with  the  birds  for  planters,  may  take 
on  a  grace  and  beauty  of  form  and  color  which 
will  soothe  a  wounded  spirit  and  bring  balm  to 
an  aching  heart,  but  a  road  "  mender,"  or  a 
farmer  with  a  taste  for  "  tidying  up,"  can 
make  a  hot  and  barren  waste  of  it  in  an  hour. 
A  shady  glen  between  climbing  hills  seems  the 
very  haunt  of  coolness  and  repose,  and  as  you 
look  upon  it  you  would  fain  lie  at  length  upon 
its  side  and  let  the  soft  air  bring  freshness  to 
your  tired  brow.  But  the  desire  is  not  so 
strong  after  it  has  been  made  a  dumping  place 
for  clam  shells  and  tomato  cans,  scraps  of 
paper  and  old  junk. 

And,  coming  to  those  things  to  which  the 
hand  and  mind  and  heart  of  man  have  directly 
contributed,  it  may  be  remarked  that  a  new 

133 


PROVE    ALL    THINGS 

'dwelling  is  fresh  and  clean  and  comfortable. 
But  it  is  not  until  many  hearts  have  beaten  in 
it,  until  many  lives  have  aided  to  make  it  a 
whispering  gallery,  until  the  tooth  of  time 
has  lightly  gnawed  the  sharp  corners  of  its 
timbers,  its  brick  and  its  stone,  until  the  ele- 
ments have  softly  tinted  it,  that  it  has  become 
a  home  in  the  fullest  sense,  and  sacred  with  the 
sacredness  which  comes  from  close  association 
with  human  lives  and  assimilation  to  the 
humor  of  passing  years.  And  then  comes  the 
time  to  lay  the  restraining  hand  upon  the  arm 
of  the  hustler  ere  he  play  the  part  of  a  destroy- 
ing fiend  in  the  name  of  modern  progress. 

It  is  not  infrequently  that  the  soundest 
philosophy  is  suggested  in  a  nursery  rhyme. 
It  was  long  ago  that  we  learned  that  as,  idly, 

"  Humpty-Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall 
Humpty-Dumpty  had  a  great  fall. " 

And  it  may  well  be  remembered  that 

"  All  the  King's  horses  and  all  the  King's  men 
Couldn't  put  Humpty-Dumpty  up  again." 

It  was  recently  remarked,  by  one  who  felt 
deeply  upon  these  matters,  that  the  time  had 
fully  arrived  for  the  pulpit  to  take  up  the  sub- 
ject and  proclaim  it  the  sin  that  it  is,  willfully 
to  destroy  the  natural  beauty  to  which  we 
have  become  heirs.  The  pulpit  could  engage 
in  a  very  much  worse  work  than  this ;  it  would 

134 


PROVE    ALL    THINGS 

be  safe  to  say  that  it  often  has  engaged  in  very 
much  worse  work. 

Fortunately,  so  beneficent  is  Nature,  so  long- 
suffering  and  lenient  to  the  criminal,  however 
he  may  treat  her,  that  the  hustler  never  can  do 
damage  so  great  that  she  is  not  able  in  time 
to  throw  a  veil  over  it  and  soften  its  terrors. 
But  there  are  some  things  which  nature  cannot 
do,  some  rents  which  are  beyond  repair,  and 
eternal  vigilance  is  called  for  on  the  part  of 
the  civilized,  lest  these  rents  be  made  before  he 
is  aware. 

The  organization  of  village  improvement 
societies  was  a  move  in  the  right  direction,  but 
the  work  of  these  has  been  allowed  in  many 
places  to  become  perfunctory  and  inefficient. 
They  might  well  be  spurred  to  greater  activity 
by  the  dangers  now  threatening  because  of  the 
cupidity  of  some,  or  of  the  barbarism  of 
others;  and  it  should  be  a  part  of  their 
function  to  seek  to  disseminate  sound  views 
upon  the  duty  of  the  citizen  in  regard  to 
natural  beauty. 


135 


XVII 
OPEN    SESAME 

THE  following  item  has  made  its  ap- 
pearance in  the  public  prints,  pur- 
porting to  have  been  copied  from  a 
notice  put  up  on  the  grounds  of 
a  well-known  public  man :     "  You  are  wel- 
come.   Build  no  fires,  bring  no  guns,  and  pull 
up  no  flowers  by  the  roots." 

As  the  saying  has  it,  "  Si  non  e  vero,  e  ben 
trovato."  If  not  true,  it  ought  to  be  true 
(though  that  isn't  a  literal  translation),  and 
the  only  possible  reason  for  mooting  the  point 
is  that  it  is  so  perfectly  sensible  and  civilized. 
The  text  is  a  most  inviting  one  and  I  am 
tempted  to  take  it  up  after  the  fashion  of  an 
old-time  preacher,  with  firstly,  secondly, 
thirdly,  and  fourthly,  and  an  "  improvement  " 
upon  the  text  as  a  whole  as  a  snapper.  Or  to 
take  it  after  the  fashion  of  a  conundrum,  as: 
My  first  is  a  benediction;  my  second  is  anti- 
phlogiston;  my  third  is  bird  protection;  my 
fourth  is  a  wise  suggestion,  and  my  whole  is 
downright  common  sense. 

When  a  man  lives  in  the  city  or  even  in  the 
immediate  suburbs,  upon  a  little  seven-by- 

136 


OPEN    SESAME 

'nine  lot,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  He  has 
more  than  enough  room  to  accommodate  his 
personal  friends.  And  it  may  be  necessary  to 
warn  these  to  "  please  keep  off  the  grass." 
But  when  he  lives  by  the  seashore,  or  on  the 
mountains,  or  even  in  the  plain  country,  and 
owns  or  rents  a  part  of  all  outdoors,  it  is  quite 
another  matter.  Not  that  his  house  is  not  his 
castle  there,  just  as  it  is  in  the  city.  Not  that 
he  can  properly  be  cheated  of  his  privacy  there 
any  more  than  in  the  city.  And  not  that  he  is 
not  entitled  to  supreme  control  there,  subject 
to  the  laws  of  the  state,  just  as  he  is  in  the  city. 
But  granting  all  these  qualifications,  the  motto 
noblesse  oblige  requires  of  him  that  he  as  the 
owner,  renter,  or  controller  should  extend  to 
those  of  his  fellow  citizens  who  are  themselves 
civilized  and  respecters  of  his  rights,  all 
privileges  that  he  can  safely  afford  without 
depriving  himself  and  his  family  of  the  ad- 
vantages to  which  they  are  entitled. 

The  land-hunger  is  probably  one  of  the 
most  intense  cravings  known  to  human  nature, 
and  the  private  ownership  of  land  has  been  one 
of  the  most  potent  forces  in  the  advancement 
of  civilization.  It  is  not  probable  that  within 
the  next  few  thousand  years  we  shall  reach  a 
period  when  any  very  serious  change  will  take 
place  in  this  respect  in  regard  to  desire  or  right 
of  ownership.  But  precisely  because  such  is 
the  case  and  because  some  have  and  others  have 

137 


OPEN    SESAME 

not,  it  is  all  the  more  incumbent  upon  those 
that  have  to  act  generously  their  part. 

We  probably  do  not  need  any  law  about  it ; 
we  have  too  many  laws  already.  You  cannot 
very  well  reform  the  world  by  law,  though 
you  may  thereby  do  away  with  obstacles  and 
remove  some  special  and  unfair  privileges. 
The  experience  of  the  past  now  and  then 
struck  out  some  very  happy  thoughts,  and 
"  Do  as  you  would  be  done  by  "  is  not  the  least 
valuable  of  these.  Has  it  ever  occurred  to 
you  to  consider  what  would  be  the  total  effect 
upon  a  community  of  a  general  effort  to  live 
up  to  the  meaning  of  this  injunction? 

I  should  like  to  pass  a  twelvemonth  in 
such  a  community  and  observe  what  should 
occur. 

There  are  parts  of  our  sea  coast  where  it  is 
already  impossible  for  the  person  who  is  not  a 
landowner  to  obtain  a  sight  of  the  mighty 
main.  There  are  extensive  districts  inland, 
where  the  wanderer  or  even  the  near  neighbor 
is  confined  to  a  dusty  road  and  wholly  ex- 
cluded from  the  enjoyment  of  the  finest 
samples  of  the  handiwork  of  that  miracle- 
worker,  Nature.  This  ought  not  so  to  be. 
In  older  countries,  in  addition  to  the  fact  that 
great  houses  and  fine  parks  are,  under  certain 
regulations,  thrown  open  for  the  enjoyment  of 
the  public,  there  are  almost  everywhere  foot- 
paths across  private  domains  to  which  the 

138 


OPEN    SESAME 

public  has  prescriptive  rights,  and  from  the  use 
of  which  it  can,  therefore,  never  be  debarred. 
Such  paths  might  in  most  instances  be  allowed 
here,  without  interference  with  the  comfort  of 
the  proprietors. 

Of  course  this  is  a  matter  of  use  and  not  of 
abuse.  It  remaineth  that  they  that  use  this 
world  be  not  as  abusing  it.  If  one  cannot 
avail  himself  properly  of  privileges,  he  must 
be  excluded  from  their  enjoyment.  But  it  is 
most  often  from  lack  of  experience  that  abuse 
creeps  in,  and  I  venture  to  think  that  a 
prudent  extension  of  a  courteous  hospitality 
would  be  followed  by  a  rapid  development  of 
grateful  and  thoughtful  recognition. 

What  right,  what  moral  right  I  mean,  not 
legal  right,  has  any  individual  to  take  posses- 
sion of  one  of  those  wondrously  lovely  spots 
which  Nature  with  such  a  lavish  hand  has 
scattered  over  this  beautiful  world,  and  seal  it 
up  from  the  enjoyment  of  others?  I  might  go 
further  and  say,  by  what  right  shall  he  so  seal 
up  a  wonderful  work  of  art?  but  I  forbear. 
Remember,  again,  I  am  not  speaking  of  legal 
right ;  I  am  speaking  of  right  as  it  is  to  appear 
to  the  conscience  of  the  wholly  civilized  man, 
one  who  has  scraped  off  his  war  paint,  and 
prepared  himself  to  become  a  citizen  of  that 
kingdom  of  which  we  hear  so  much,  but  which 
has  curiously  enough  been  left  to  the  preachers 
to  talk  about,  and  is  supposed  to  be  a  part  of 

139 


OPEN    SESAME 

the  apparatus  of  Sunday  morning,  but  which 
some  eccentric  people,  who  may  not  often  be 
seen  in  the  churches,  fancy  to  be  the  most 
practical  kingdom  that  exists,  I  mean  the 
kingdom  of  God. 


140 


XVIII 

AM   I    MY   BROTHER'S 
KEEPER? 

THE  sentiment  most  generally  rec- 
ognized as  elevated  and  ennobling, 
and  characteristic  of  the  best  spirits 
in  the  community,  is  the  sentiment 
that  we  are  in  some  sort  our  brother's  keeper. 
That  there  are  certain  imperative  laws  of  de- 
velopment to  which  we,  alike  with  all  other 
departments  of  organic  life,  are  subject,  I 
make  no  question.  That  it  is  easy  to  attempt 
unwisely  to  interfere  with  the  action  of  these 
laws,  I  am  as  fully  assured.  But  that  the 
human  being  of  to-day  has  also  a  deliberate 
duty  to  perform,  which  can  only  be  deduced 
from  his  own  experience  and  the  experience  of 
the  race  so  far  as  he  is  acquainted  with  it,  I 
am  quite  as  confident. 

The  cry  of  the  time,  as  it  has  been  to  some 
extent  the  cry  of  other  times,  is  a  leveling 
cry:  a  demand  that  the  individual  be  brought 
beneath  the  heel  of  the  multitude.  Nothing, 
in  my  judgment,  could  be  more  unfortunate; 
there  is  nothing  the  success  of  which  would 
seem  to  me  more  disastrous.  The  nugget  of 

141 


MY   BROTHER'S    KEEPER? 

truth  upon  which  this  cry  is  based  is,  at  its 
best,  the  assumption  that  there  must  be  some 
fact  of  duty  to  correspond  with  the  sentiment 
of  helpfulness  to  which  I  have  referred.  I 
believe  that  there  is  such  a  fact;  but  in  my 
judgment  the  deductions  drawn  therefrom  are 
false,  the  theories  thereon  founded  are  un- 
tenable, and  the  practices  proposed  would  be 
futile,  and  destructive  of  that  for  the  support 
of  which  they  are  sought. 

Our  knowledge  is  but  an  accumulation  of 
facts  and  deductions  drawn  from  experience. 
We  know  that  progress  has  been  attained 
through  individual  initiative,  not  through  com- 
pulsory associated  action.  We  know  as  well 
that  the  flower  of  progress,  if  we  may  not 
indeed  more  properly  say  its  fruit,  is  the  sense 
of  this  duty  of  common  helpfulness.  That  is, 
human  history  points  to  voluntary  and  indi- 
vidual action  as  the  source  from  which  general 
progress  arises,  and  the  implement  through  the 
use  of  which  it  is  effected,  and  from  which  the 
altruistic  sentiment  is  born,  not  to  compulsory 
and  corporate  action.  Its  ideal  is  wise  and 
cheerful  co-operation,  as  diametrically  opposed 
to  enforced  and  tyrannical  communism,  na- 
tionalism, socialism. 

Now  we  are  in  the  midst  of  the  struggle  for 
the  mastery  between  these  two  theories. 
While  some  think  that  we  are  approaching 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  actual  trial  of  the 

142 


MY   BROTHER'S    KEEPER? 

socialist  experiment,   others  believe  that  the 
whole  movement  is  based  upon  certain  tem- 
porary  business   or   political   conditions,    and 
that  in  a  comparatively  brief  period  it  will 
sink  into  insignificance.      Whether  the  experi- 
ment will  be  tried  on  any  large  scale,  I  do  not 
know:    that    the    movement   will    soon    fade 
away,  I  greatly  doubt.     All  the  elements  of 
the  situation  seem  to  me  to  point  to  a  period 
of  unrest,  lasting  many  years.     It  will  take 
long  to  assimilate  the  changes  in  our  material 
conditions  that  have  already  been  effected:  it 
is  not  impossible  that,  within  the  years  just  at 
hand,  we  shall  have  to  face  others  as  momen- 
tous.    Should  this  be  the  case,  undoubtedly  all 
manner  of  social  nostrums  will  be  offered  to 
us,  and  the  wildest  schemes  will  be  attempted. 
If  this  be  probably  so,  which  is  the  wiser — 
to  attempt  to  educate  the  uninstructed,  or  to 
simply  stand  on  the  defensive,  as  those  who 
have,  and  defy  the  attack?     (Some  of  us  who 
feel  thus,  alas!  have  very  little,  excepting  our 
sense  of   right,   of   justice   and   expediency.) 
According  to  my  view,  it  is  much  the  wiser  to 
do  what  we  can  to  open  the  eyes  that  are  blind. 
It  may  be — it  doubtless  will  be — slow  work:  it 
may    require    line    upon    line,    precept    upon 
precept,  here  a  little  and  there  a  little.     Even 
so  but  little  may  be  effected  in  changing  the 
attitude  of  those  already  committed.     But  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  vast  majority 

143 


MY   BROTHER'S   KEEPER? 

are  not  committed,  but  are  simply  ignorant, 
and  that  ignorance  is  the  hotbed  in  which 
errors  grow.  A  little  truth  will  often  go  a 
great  way  in  preventing  the  development  of 
much  falsehood. 

Supposing  that  my  position  is  well  taken,  I 
think  that  I  may  safely  follow  with  the  asser- 
tion that  the  only  wise  way  of  meeting  a 
dangerous  and  delusive  movement,  like  that  to 
which  I  am  referring,  is  with  a  statement  and 
enforcement  of  the  exact  truth,  as  you  appre- 
hend it,  not  attempting  to  gloze  over  any 
point  which  may  seemingly  fit  into  the  theory 
of  your  opponent,  or  to  evade  allusion  to  it, 
but  rather  emphasizing  it  in  its  true  relations. 
So  far  as  your  opponents  are  reasonable,  you 
thus  place  before  them  material  through  the 
use  of  which  they  may  revise  their  conclusions ; 
and  so  far  as  your  arguments  may  come  before 
those  who  are  merely  unfamiliar  with  the 
question,  and  not  yet  your  opponents,  if  you 
have  faith  in  the  power  of  the  truth,  you  should 
be  quite  content  to  leave  them  to  draw  their 
own  conclusions.  I  thoroughly  believe  that 
there  exists  a  responsibility  of  ownership  which 
is  not  adequately  realized,  and  that  this  needs 
to  be  clearly  set  before  those  whom  it  most 
nearly  touches.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
maddest  propositions  are  gravely  advocated  by 
writers  who  should  know  better,  and  eagerly 
accepted  by  readers  who  also  should  know 

144 


MY   BROTHER'S    KEEPER? 

better,  but  who  never  will  know  better  unless 
some  effort  be  made  to  place  the  truth  before 
them  by  those  who  recognize  the  fact  that  they 
are,  as  I  have  said,  in  a  certain  sense,  and  so 
far  as  their  power  to  aid  may  go,  their 
brother's  keeper.  Let  us  take  our  stand  upon 
the  immutable  laws  of  progress  and  the  im- 
pregnability of  the  truth ;  be  not  swerved  from 
our  conviction  of  the  solidarity  of  the  race,  and 
that  its  welfare  is  bound  up  with  and  is  at  one 
with  the  eternal  universe,  if  the  universe  be 
eternal,  and  if  it  be  not,  with  whatever  may  be 
the  eternal,  and  "  God  save  the  right." 


145 


XIX 

IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE 
STORM 

UNDERLEDGE  forms  an  ideal  point 
of  vantage  from  which  to  watch  the 
progress  of  a  summer  or  a  winter 
storm.  You  will  remember  that  on 
the  south,  southwest,  and  west,  the  view  is 
bordered  by  the  edge  of  the  mountain  meadow, 
with  a  picturesque  fringe  of  trees  far  enough 
away  to  give  a  good  view  of  the  sky,  and  with 
here  and  there  a  loophole  through  which  one 
can  just  catch  sight  of  the  hills  toward  Forest- 
ville :  in  front,  over  a  sloping  line  of  maples  on 
the  High  Street,  which  are  ideally  beautiful  in 
the  autumn,  there  are  tiny  glimpses  of  the  val- 
ley, and  beyond  these  of  the  narrow  passage 
through  which  the  Tunxis  makes  its  way  from 
the  rugged  country  about  New  Hartford,  and 
still  further,  the  Burlington  Mountain  and  the 
higher  hills  receding  toward  "  Satan's  King- 
dom " ;  while  to  the  northward,  seen  over  the 
picturesque  pasture  and  charming  grassy 
slopes,  stretches  the  beautiful  intervale,  with 
its  bits  of  rich  farming  land,  and  long  and 
broad  masses  of  what  seems  interminable 

146 


HEART  OF  THE  STORM 

forest  to  the  Barn-door  Hills,  the  portal  of  the 
valley,  through  which,  when  the  atmosphere  is 
clear,  as  now,  we  look  far  beyond  to  the  moun- 
tains of  central  Massachusetts. 

Somewhat  farther  to  the  eastward  the  bold 
slopes  of  the  Talcott  Range  front  the  wester- 
ing sun,  breaking  down  into  lesser  hills,  toward 
the  Paul  Spring;  and  behind  the  cottage  only, 
the  ledge  with  its  rich  drapery  of  evergreen 
and  oak  and  ash  and  chestnut,  through  which 
the  sky  gleams  in  infinitesimal  patches,  closes 
the  view,  eighty  or  a  hundred  yards  away. 

On  Saturday  it  rained.  It  rained,  and  then 
again  it  rained.  It  poured.  It  came  in  floods, 
it  lightened,  and  it  thundered.  Oh,  how  it 
thundered !  It  so  happened  that  about  noon  I 
was  sitting  upon  the  veranda,  writing, — not 
an  uncommon  occurrence, — and  for  my  own 
amusement  I  noted  in  careful  detail  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  landscape  under  the  existing 
and  constantly  changing  atmospheric  condi- 
tions. 

The  weather  during  the  morning  had  been 
"open  and  shut," which  proverbially  forebodes 
rain,  and  it  has  the  further  advantage  that  it  is 
provocative  of  some  of  the  most  lovely  effects 
that  Dame  Nature  ever  vouchsafes.  At  times 
the  distant  hills  lose  themselves  in  the  pale 
blue  haze,  which  advances  well  into  the  fore- 
ground. So  was  it  that  morning.  I  noticed 
a  curious  circumstance,  however,  which  I  am 

147 


HEART  OF  THE   STORM 

quite  unable  to  explain  or  understand.  In  the 
middle  distance,  perhaps  eight  miles  away, 
against  a  background  of  dark  green  wood, 
stands  the  great  house  of  my  dainty  little 
English  neighbor  near  Weatogue.  It  is 
usually  quite  visible  when  the  air  is  clear, 
especially  while  the  sun  is  in  the  south,  but  I 
never  before  saw  it  so  clearly  as  on  Saturday. 
It  shone  as  if  it  had  just  been  presented  with  a 
fresh  summer  suit.  That  this  should  have 
been  the  case  under  the  hazy  condition  of  the 
atmosphere  is  singular. 

The  changes  in  such  weather  as  this  are 
kaleidoscopic.  A  ray  of  sunlight  passes  athwart 
the  valley,  lighting  here  and  there  a  farm- 
house, a  bit  of  fertile  meadow,  a  noble  tree. 
Now  the  valley  and  nearer  hills  lie  shrouded, 
and  through  the  haze  the  sun-lighted  heights 
on  the  horizon  gleam  softly  like  the  Delecta- 
ble Mountains  of  a  different  World.  Anon  the 
haze  lifts  and  the  sun  is  veiled  by  a  great  dark 
cloud  overspreading  the  west:  the  horizon 
line  comes  out  clear  and  strong,  the  hills  are 
of  an  intense  blue  against  the  lighter  tone  of 
the  clouded  sky. 

The  great  dark  cloud  rises  and  spreads.  I 
watch  heavy  showers  chasing  one  after  another 
along  Burlington  Mountain  and  across  the 
gorge  at  Unionville  and  by  Avon  and  Sims- 
bury  and  around  the  bold  headland  of  the 
Talcott  Mountain.  Occasionally  a  bit  of 


HEART  OF  THE   STORM 

vapory  fringe  trails  across  our  slope,  leaves  us 
a  few  pearly  drops,  and  then  climbs  the  heights 
beyond. 

This  lasted  well  through  the  afternoon. 
The  prolific  mother  of  storms  sat  still  in  the 
west  and  sent  out  her  brood  one  by  one,  flash- 
ing and  grumbling  and  occasionally  uttering  a 
harsher  note,  but  following  each  the  beaten 
track  up  through  the  valley.  Sometimes  the 
first  note  of  the  thunder  sounded  nearly  in 
front,  and  then,  reverberating  from  cloud  to 
cloud,  it  would  roll  far  up  the  valley  and  die 
in  the  distance  after  lasting  nearly  or  quite 
half  a  minute,  which  is  a  long  time  when  you 
come  to  measure  it. 

In  attempting  to  describe  them  in  detail,  I 
found  the  changes  so  sudden  and  frequent 
that,  rapid  writer  as  I  am,  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  keep  up  with  them.  It  was  ap- 
proaching five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
the  serious  business  began.  Another  scion  of 
the  same  family  made  its  appearance  in  the 
west,  of  more  robust  port  and  sterner  visage. 
Its  motion  was  steady  and  rapid,  and  instead 
of  following  the  others  northward  through  the 
valley,  it  marched  steadily  across  and  seemed 
to  be  coming  on  the  wings  of  a  violent  wind. 

The  veil  grew  thicker  and  thicker  over  the 
hills  and  shrouded  in  turn  the  objects  in  the 
valley.  At  length  I  hear  the  falling  shower 
at  the  foot  of  the  meadow;  now  it  climbs  the 

149 


HEART  OF  THE   STORM 

hill — it  reaches  the  lawn — it  strikes  the  roof. 
But  there  is  no  wind  at  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  or  but  the  gentlest  breeze. 

The  storm  was  fairly  upon  us,  and  for  two 
hours  it  seemed  to  center  in  a  shallow  de- 
pression two  or  three  thousand  feet  south  of 
Underledge,  and  rock  to  and  fro,  unable  to 
find  an  exit.  It  was  magnificent,  but  it  was 
awful  in  the  strictest  sense.  The  rain,  at  first 
rather  gentle  but  decided,  and  leaving  no 
room  for  doubt  that  it  was  a  bona-fide  rain, 
grew  heavier  and  heavier  until  we  could 
almost  imagine  it  to  be  what  they  call  in  the 
West  a  "  cloud-burst,"  and  with  slight  fluc- 
tuations this  continued  for  considerably  over 
an  hour.  Meantime,  we  were  under  fire  from 
all  Heaven's  artillery.  The  flashes  followed 
quickly  one  upon  another,  sometimes  several  in 
succession,  before  there  came  from  them  the 
first  peal  of  thunder,  and  yet  these  followed  so 
rapidly,  crash  upon  crash,  that  it  seemed  that 
we  were  in  the  very  heart  of  the  storm. 
Underneath  was  the  steady,  subdued  roar  of 
the  falling  rain — an  obbligato  accompaniment 
— that  sounded  like  the  rumble  of  a  distant 
train. 

Sometimes  the  flashes  were  from  cloud  to 
cloud,  but  oftenest  they  fell  almost  perpen- 
dicularly from  the  clouds  to  the  earth,  and 
were  vivid  until  they  were  lost  behind  the 
thick  foliage.  Two  or  three  hundred  yards 

ISO 


HEART   OF  THE   STORM 

below  me  on  the  hill-side  a  bolt  struck  a 
neighbor's  barn,  and  the  proverbial  "  ball  of 
fire  "  passed  between  him  and  a  friend,  they 
being  within  the  barn.  How  utterly  weak 
and  impotent  one  feels  in  the  presence  of  such 
supreme  and  resistless  power!  Man's  boasted 
strength  is  but  as  the  breath  of  a  moth  against 
'Niagara.  We  can  but  quietly  yield  ourselves 
to  a  force  which  none  can  control,  and  await 
the  issue. 

At  length  the  flashes  of  light  and  crashes 
of  sound  are  perceived  no  longer  over  the 
valley,  but  seem  to  be  retiring  to  the  south- 
eastward. Suddenly  for  a  moment  the  clouds 
part  slightly  in  the  west,  and  the  sun  peers 
through.  It  is  but  for  a  moment,  and  the 
rain  still  falls  heavily.  Less  and  less  heavily, 
however,  it  falls;  the  clouds  become  more 
broken  in  the  west ;  lines  of  light  stretch  across 
the  intervale;  the  storm  is  past. 

Peace!  The  sunlight  glistens  on  the  blades 
of  the  grass  and  on  its  f ringy  tops  which  gently 
bow  before  the  light  wind.  And  through  and 
over  them,  hither  and  thither  wing  their  way 
innumerable  yellow  butterflies.  What  pure 
souls  are  these  that  seem  to  have  been  born  of 
the  storm? 


XX 

CHEATING   THE   EYES 

I  HAVE  just  made  a  notable  discovery. 
It  may  have  been  made  a  score  of  times 
before,  but  it  is  wholly  new  to  me,  and  I 
doubt  not  will  be  new  to  nearly  all,  if 
not  quite  all,  of  my  readers. 

I  am  sitting  on  my  veranda  with  my  eyes 
about  eight  or  nine  feet  distant  from  the  rustic 
railing  which  incloses  it.  In  looking  through 
the  railing  at  the  slender  birch  trees  at  the  end 
of  the  lawn,  I  discovered  a  moment  ago  that 
when  one  of  them  was  directly  behind  one  of 
the  balusters  (these  being  slightly  less  in 
diameter  than  the  distance  between  my  eyes) 
I  could  see  it  with  greater  distinctness,  and 
make  out  the  details  more  readily  than  I  could 
under  other  circumstances.  This  fact  was  so 
surprising  that  I  tried  the  experiment  over  and 
over  again,  with  the  same  result.  On  making 
repeated  trials  upon  other  objects  I  found  a 
similar  effect,  but  not  expressed  so  definitely. 
The  increased  clearness,  though  unmistakable, 
is  not  so  considerable  but  that  to  make  ab- 
solutely sure  of  it  one  must  observe  with 
care;  but  when  the  contrasts  are  great,  as 

152 


CHEATING   THE   EYES 

upon  the  white  stems  of  the  birches  as  com- 
pared with  the  markings  upon  them,  or  with 
the  surrounding  objects,  it  becomes  unequiv- 
ocal. 

It  is  well  known  that  a  small  hole  in  a 
shutter  or  other  screen  may  be  used  without  a 
lens  as  a  camera,  and  will  give  a  very  good 
image  in  a  dark  room.  I  have  even  heard  of 
photographs  having  been  taken  with  such  an 
improvised  instrument.  Again,  it  is  a  com- 
mon practice  to  use  the  hand  closed  as  nearly 
as  may  be  into  a  cylinder  as  a  spying  tube, 
when  we  wish  to  see  into  the  distance  more 
distinctly,  or  in  reading  when  we  are  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  find  ourselves  bereft  of  the 
spectacles  or  eye-glasses  with  which,  by  a 
singular  and  happy  dispensation  of  bountiful 
nature,  middle-aged  persons  so  frequently  find 
themselves  endowed. 

By  the  way,  is  it  not  probable  that  to  this 
endowment  perhaps  more  largely  than  to  any- 
thing else  is  to  be  traced  that  increased 
longevity  in  the  human  race  characteristic  of 
modern  times?  (I  am  not  comparing  with 
the  figures  of  the  Pentateuch.)  If  in  former 
days  sight  were  subject  to  the  same  vicissitudes 
as  at  present,  activities  which  can  now  be  con- 
tinued at  will  through  the  years  of  a  long  life 
must  have  been  laid  aside  as  wholly  im- 
practicable at  an  early  age,  with  all  the  inevi- 
table consequent  depression  and  distancing  in 

153 


CHEATING   THE   EYES 

the  race  for  a  subsistence,  to  say  nothing  of 
comfort  and  enjoyment. 

My  theory  in  regard  to  the  phenomenon 
which  I  have  described  is  that  it  is  due  in 
some  manner  to  the  principle  of  the  di- 
aphragm. It  is  as  if  I  deceived  my  eyes  by  a 
subterfuge,  and  obtained  the  benefit  of  the 
deceit,  as,  under  the  tutelage  of  his  crafty 
mother,  the  dutiful  Jacob  did  through  the 
sense  of  touch.  I  seem  to  say  to  myself,  "  Now 
I  am  looking  through  a  narrow  aperture 
between  two  edges — such  being  the  case,  re- 
port to  me  what  ou  find  before  you."  For 
you  will  observe,  if  you  try  a  similar  experi- 
ment, that  while  you  are  adjusting  the  focus 
of  your  eyes  to  the  object  which  you  wish  to 
inspect,  and  intermittently  while  you  are  in- 
specting it,  you  are  conscious  of  two  images 
of  the  intervening  object,  between  which  you 
appear  to  be  looking. 

While  speaking  of  optical  phenomena  I 
might  refer  to  another  circumstance  which 
may  also  be  perfectly  familiar.  I  do  not  re- 
call having  ever  heard  it  mentioned,  though  I 
have  a  vague  recollection  of  having  seen  it 
stated  somewhere,  that  the  center  of  the  retina 
becomes  fatigued,  seared  as  it  were,  after  long 
use,  and  loses  sensitiveness.  However  this 
may  be,  frequent  observation  through  many 
years  has  made  it  clear  to  me  that  if  I  desire 
to  see  an  object  which  is  extremely  indistinct, 

154 


CHEATING   THE   EYES 

especially,  for  example,  upon  a  dark  night,  I 
can  frequently  do  so  by  looking  a  little  to  one 
side  of  it,  and  catching  it,  if  I  may  say  so,  on 
the  margin  of  the  retina,  although  I  cannot 
see  a  vestige  of  it  when  looking  directly  toward 
it.  I  think  that  after  a  little  practice  others 
will  discover  this  to  be  so,  if  they  observe 
carefully. 


155 


XXI 

AN    IMPRESSION 

UNDER  the  inspiration   of  a  strong 
breeze   from   the   south   the   aeolian 
harp  at  the  window  has  to-day  been 
singing  almost  constantly,  and  with 
inexpressible    sweetness — sweetness,     that    is, 
which  I  cannot  express:  from  the  lowest  mur- 
murs to  the  highest  tone  which  it  can  reach: 
breathing   such    acute   longings,   plaints,    and 
reveries,  as  pierce  one  to  the  very  marrow.     If 
parting  be  "such  sweet  sorrow,"  what  shall 
we  say  of  music  like  unto  this  ? 

"  I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music," 

says  Jessica,  and  merriment  seems  as  far  as 
the  antipodes  from  the  emotion  produced  when 
listening  to  this  minstrel.  Yet  it  makes  one 
crave  companionship — crave  something  in  the 
way  of  a  refuge  from  this  intense  insistence 
upon  the  underlying  pathos  of  life. 

This  is  one  of  the  days  when  it  seems  as 
foolish  to  think  of  the  world  about  us  as  with- 
out a  real  poignant  life  as  to  think  so  of  our- 
selves. One  is  not  always  conscious  of  this 
feeling  about  the  world.  Sometimes  it  seems 

156 


AN   IMPRESSION 

inert:  simply  the  scene  of  operations.  To- 
day it  is  wholly  different :  it  is  all  instinct  with 
life.  The  framework  is  palpitating:  vegeta- 
tion is  luxuriant :  the  trees  are  masses  of  heavy 
and  healthy  foliage :  the  fields  are  teeming  with 
richness  in  everything  that  grows.  Butter- 
flies flutter  here  and  there:  the  air  is  full  of 
the  songs  of  birds,  of  the  chirp  and  whir  of 
insects:  grass  and  blossom  and  shrub  and  tree 
tumble  and  toss,  and  wave  in  each  tingling  leaf, 
and  respond  in  murmurs  to  the  solicitation 
of  the  breeze:  while  the  spirit  finds  its  perfect 
utterance  in  the  voice  of  the  harp,  in  which 
throbs  the  very  heart-beat  of  life — in  which 
are  concentrated  all  the  tides  which  ebb  and 
flow  through  the  sentient  world. 

The  tiniest  growing  sprays  curve  and  spring 
in  the  passing  breeze,  with  motion  incessant 
and  incalculable.  It  would  seem  as  if  they 
must  be  torn  and  crushed  into  nothingness, 
yet  is  this  a  part  of  the  very  making  of  their 
lives,  which  could  not  endure  without  it.  Not 
a  moment  are  they  still.  The  leaves  flutter 
and  flutter  in  the  wind,  their  petioles  yielding, 
bending  and  rebounding,  the  cells  elongating 
and  contracting,  working  upon  and  among 
each  other,  almost  as  part  of  a  moving  fluid. 

"  That  strain  again  !      It  had  a  dying  fall : 
Oh,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  sound 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odor." 

157 


AN   IMPRESSION 

The  whole  problem  of  the  world  and  of  life 
breathes  in  it.  I  listen  with  awe  and  with 
wonder:  with  awe  at  that  which  is,  and  with 
both  awe  and  wonder  at  that  which  may  be. 

For  a  moment  it  is  silent.  Then,  far  off, 
I  hear  a  single  tone,  a  soft  and  gentle  murmur. 
It  fades  to  the  most  attenuated  essence  of 
sound :  then  rises,  and  into  it  glide  other  tones 
until  the  chord  is  full,  and  a  great  peal  rings 
out — a  peal  of  triumph,  or  a  shriek  of  despair. 
Anon  a  gentler  tone  makes  itself  heard 
beneath ;  the  peal  sinks  lower  and  lower ;  little 
by  little  the  harmony  is  unraveled  until  it 
dies  away,  a  plaintive  wail  or  sob  which  is  but 
a  divine  breath. 

It  is  interesting,  but  can  hardly  be  accounted 
singular,  that  so  large  a  proportion  of  its  in- 
tervals are  in  the  minor  mode.  It  continually 
recurs  to  and  repeats  with  persistency  the 
sixth,  but  lays  less  stress  upon  the  third,  and 
only  occasionally  falls  upon  and  rests  firmly 
on  the  tonic.  It  sings  the  psalm  of  life,  with 
its  aspirations  ever  unfulfilled,  but  making 
music  of  its  pain,  and  enriching,  the  world 
with  its  unsatisfied  longings. 


158 


XXII 
MY   SCULPTORS 

WE    are    so    new,    in    this    New- 
England— in  "The  New  World." 
It  doesn't  seem  to  make  any  dif- 
ference that  our  Laurentian  rocks 
are  a  part  of  the  very  core  of  the  earth,  and 
sisters  of  the  Alps  and  the  Apennines.     We 
ourselves  are  but  of  yesterday,  and  the  varnish 
is  not  yet  dry  in  which  we  try  to  see  our  re- 
flection, if,  haply,  varnish  there  be.     It  is  true 
that  we  have  already  greatly  altered  the  sur- 
face of  the  country,  I  trust  not  always  for  the 
worse.    -But  the  alterations  so  far  are  more 
indicative  of  vigor  than  of  sentiment. 

And  now,  as  we  halt  a  little  in  the  breath- 
less struggle  to  get  ahead,  we  suddenly  realize 
that  there  has  been  a  life  before  ours,  the  roots 
of  which  go  far  down  into  the  past;  a  life  of 
joy  and  of  sorrow,  of  suffering,  of  struggle, 
and  of  aspiration;  and  we  feel  an  indistinct 
craving  to  grasp  a  little  more  strongly  the 
importance  of  the  long  sweep,  and  to  lay  less 
stress  upon  the  incidental  material  contest  in 
which  we  are  at  present  engaged.  And  we 
begin  to  seek  for  something  which  is  not 

159 


MY   SCULPTORS 

exactly  new,  or  at  least  which  does  not  seem 
to  be  new. 

I  think  that  it  is  perhaps  nearly  as  much 
for  this  reason,  as  on  aesthetic  grounds,  though 
unconsciously,  that  in  the  numerous  dwelling 
houses  which  have  been  erected  in  the  rural 
districts  during  the  past  score  of  years,  so 
much  effort  has  been  made  to  avoid  the  appear- 
ance of  newness.  We  have  few  country 
houses  of  any  antiquity — even  in  the  American 
sense — which  are  commodious  and  homelike, 
and  the  many  people  who  in  recent  years  have 
sought  a  refuge  in  the  suburban  districts,  both 
the  wealthy  and  those  of  moderate  means,  have 
been  forced  to  build  for  themselves,  or  to 
accept  what  has  been  newly  constructed.  We 
still,  with  comparative  infrequency,  build  in 
the  country  with  any  other  material  than 
wood.  Even  very  expensive  mansions  are  so 
constructed.  Some  time  we  shall  wake  up  to 
the  realization  that  we  might  do  better,  but 
meanwhile,  amid  much  which  is  crude,  prog- 
ress has  really  been  made  toward  both  the 
substantial  and  the  beautiful. 

I  suppose  that  nothing  looks  quite  so  new  at 
the  outset  as  a  new  wooden  house,  although 
few  things  become  more  picturesque  with  age 
than  do  these  in  some  instances.  And  under 
the  kindly  meteorological  influences  age  comes 
on  apace.  But  our  people  have  seen  a  great 
light,  and  they  must  have  both  age  and  beauty 

160 


MY   SCULPTORS 

without  delay;  and  along  comes  the  ingenious 
manufacturer  and  furnishes  to  them  certain 
creosote  stains  for  their  shingles  and  their 
boards,  and,  presto!  the  curtain  lifts  from  the 
past,  and  as  the  carpenter  passes  out  at  one 
door,  and  the  painter  at  another,  the  walls  and 
the  roofs  already  show  the  lapse  of  years,  the 
spread  of  mold,  and  mildew,  and  rust,  and  the 
ravages  of  decay.  It  is  a  coup  de  theatre — 
the  illusion  is  sometimes  wonderfully  success- 
ful, and  the  possessor  revels  in  a  pinchbeck 
antiquity. 

Some  whose  nerve  has  not  been  quite  equal 
to  this  expedient,  yet  whose  imaginations  are 
impressed  by  the  vision  of  the  past  and  our 
participation  in  the  life  which  flows  from  it, 
and  by  a  love  for  and  delight  in  the  beautiful, 
have  thought  it  not  improper  to  avail  of  the 
aid  of  the  more  direct  influences  of  nature 
through  the  material  made  ready  to  our  hand. 
In  times  past,  storm  and  frost  have  shattered 
the  outcropping  rocks  upon  the  tops  and  sides 
of  our  hills;  laboriously  the  farmers  have 
gathered  the  fragments  into  rude  walls,  thus 
separating  and  at  the  same  time  relieving  their 
fields  for  future  planting,  and  then  lichen  and 
moss  have  wondrously  decorated  these  walls 
in  an  infinite  variety  of  form  and  delicate 
color.  These  stones,  with  all  the  beauty  that 
the  years  have  given  them,  have  now  and  then 
been  transported  with  care  and  built  into  the 

161 


MY   SCULPTORS 

walls  of  our  simpler  cottages,  and  tied  to- 
gether with  a  cement  which  assumes  a  tone  in 
perfect  keeping  with  them,  and  we  find  our- 
selves possessed  of  a  substructure  which  at 
least  is  not  fraudulent,  and  which  justifies  it- 
self by  its  harmonious  agreement  with  its  sur- 
roundings. 

Then,  above,  the  unpainted  shingles — give 
them  but  a  little  time — yield  without  violence 
to  the  solicitation  of  the  sun  and  the  rain,  the 
wind  and  the  fogs,  and,  month  by  month,  and 
year  by  year,  mellow  and  ripen  into  the  soft 
bluish  or  silvery  gray  which  is  akin  to  the 
walls  which  they  surmount. 

Occasionally,  though  not  often,  one  like  my- 
self has  ventured  still  further  in  the  search 
after  the  harmonious  and  the  picturesque,  com- 
bined with  the  stable,  and  in  building  the 
porches  or  verandas  so  essential  to  comfort  in 
this  climate,  has  used  the  trunks  and  branches 
of  the  red  cedar  or  savin  tree,  Juniperus  Vir- 
ginlana^  which  is  so  common,  and  which  has 
very  tough  and  exceedingly  durable  wood. 

And  this  long  prelude  brings  me  to  the  sub- 
ject of  my  sketch.  Under  the  rather  loose 
shreddy  bark  of  the  dead  cedar  is  the  favorite 
burrowing  place  of  a  gray  worm  or  grub, 
about  a  third  or  half  an  inch  in  length.  These 
worms,  in  countless  numbers,  form  my  corps 
of  sculptors.  Their  function  is  to  channel  the 
surface  of  the  wood  in  an  immense  variety  of 

162 


MY   SCULPTORS 

Intricate  and  very  beautiful  patterns,  and  they 
do  it  with  an  unfailing  grace  and  patience 
which  an  Oriental  artist  might  not  rival. 

Their  bolder  work  has  much  the  character 
of  Saracenic  decoration,  and  in  some  cases  it 
seems  as  if  one  familiar  with  the  symbols 
should  be  able  to  interpret  the  arabesques,  and 
reveal  the  story  which  has  been  recorded*  On 
a  finely  curved  limb  which  forms  the  balus- 
trade upon  one  side  of  the  steps  to  my  front 
porch,  which  was  found  finished  and  stripped 
upon  a  dead  and  weather-beaten  tree  beyond 
the  ledge,  it  seems  as  if  an  artist  from  the 
Alhambra  itself  had  been  at  work,  and  I  am 
sure  that  if  I  could  read  it,  I  should  find  there 
quaint  and  romantic  tales  of  Boabdil  and  the 
Abencerages.  Wherever  the  bark  has  been 
left  sufficiently  long,  the  whole  surface  is 
diapered  in  wandering  lines  which  seem  to 
have  a  definite  significance.  Elsewhere  the 
style  of  the  work  affects  that  of  the  Aztecs,  or 
that  of  the  Japanese,  and  frequently  the 
tracery  is  more  delicate,  often  taking  a  but- 
terfly shape,  a  straight  body  in  intaglio,  with 
radiating  lines  upon  each  side  forming  the 
wings,  falling  into  or  crossed  by  wandering 
curves  which  bind  the  whole  together.  Here 
and  there  appear  minute  perforations  into  the 
depths  of  the  wood,  from  which,  while  the 
work  continues,  the  debris  is  ejected  in  powder 
like  the  finest  sawdust. 

163 


MY   SCULPTORS 

Some  of  the  trees  were  already  dead,  but 
others  were  still  growing  when  cut  to  take 
their  place  in  the  construction.  I  have  en- 
deavored to  retain  the  bark  unmolested  until 
it  should  be  loosened  by  the  weather,  that  the 
artificers  might  have  the  more  time  to  complete 
their  work.  No  evidence  of  this  work  is 
shown  while  it  is  in  progress,  save  in  the 
powdery  dust  which  accumulates  at  the  tiny 
outlets  and  falls  to  the  floor.  But  when  I 
remove  a  strip  of  the  bark,  the  connection  of 
which  with  the  wood  has  been  broken  by  the 
weather  and  the  work  done  beneath  it,  I  find 
the  surprised  workmen,  soft  articulate  bodies, 
imbedded  in  their  chips,  conscious  evidently  of 
a  momentous  change  in  their  situation  for 
which  they  were  unprepared.  They  belong 
in  the  class  of  those  who  love  darkness  rather 
than  light,  although,  from  my  point  of  view, 
their  deeds  are  not  evil,  and  with  the  removal 
of  the  bark  their  toil  and  their  lives  alike  come 
to  an  end. 

They  have  no  feet,  and  seem  to  have  no 
eyes,  for  which,  indeed,  they  have  no  use;  are 
largest  at  the  end  which  appears  to  be  the 
head,  in  the  middle  of  the  front  of  which  is  set 
a  complete  and  effective  boring  apparatus  with 
which  they  perform  their  task.  What  is  the 
order  of  their  lives,  and  what  are  the  other 
stages  of  their  existence,  I  have  not  yet  had  an 
opportunity  to  observe. 

164 


XXIII 

THE    CHIMNEY   SWAL- 
LOWS 

"  Joy  dwells  under  the  roof-tree  where  the  stork  has  built 
his  nest." 

"  Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary, 
How  does  your  garden  grow  ?  " 

A  S  the  days  begin  to  lengthen,  the  cold 
/\  begins  to  strengthen/'  and  e  con- 
y  ^  verso,  as  the  days  begin  to  shorten 
the  heat  waxes  greater  and 
greater  and  the  life  currents  run  more  swiftly 
in  tree  and  shrub  and  herb.  These  vines 
twine  themselves  closely  around  the  posts  and 
those  thrust  out  their  long  tendrils  with  their 
involved  spirals,  and  feel  after  some  friendly 
support,  if  haply  they  may  find  that  to  which 
they  may  safely  cling.  The  morning-glory 
spreads  its  heavenly  salver  to  catch  the  pearl 
drops  of  the  early  day,  but  with  the  growing 
hours  rolls  up  its  delicate  chalice  and  hides  its 
heart  from  the  too  insistent  advances  of  the 
overmastering  sun.  It  remains  forever  shy, 
and  you  may  in  no  way  so  ingratiate  yourself 
with  it  as  to  disarm  its  modesty.  Come  at  its 

165 


CHIMNEY   SWALLOWS 

own  time  and  watch  it  among  its  comrades 
while  the  day  is  young,  and  you  may  fill  your- 
self with  the  joy  of  its  perfect  beauty.  But 
dare  to  pluck  it  from  its  stem  and  take  it 
within  the  walls,  and  it  will  shiver  and  shrivel 
into  hopeless  wreck. 

Though  the  month  of  roses  be  past,  and  the 
queen  be  dead,  yet  as  ever  lives  the  queen  and, 
solitary  it  may  be,  or  in  company  select  and 
few,  she  reigns  in  state,  the  undisputed  ruler 
of  the  floral  realm.  There  be  two  classes  in 
this  realm :  the  rose,  and  the  other  flowers,  and 
of  the  first  you  can  but  say,  her  breath  is  as  the 
breath  of  the  rose — is  not  this  enough? — and 
her  beauty  is  that  of  a  rose  in  June.  You  see 
that  she  is  beyond  compare:  she  has  no  rival 
but  herself. 

The  wild  garden  no  longer  hints  at  the  bare 
brown  earth  of  the  weeks  that  are  gone,  but 
has  become  a  wilderness  of  green  and  gold 
and  pink  and  blue,  and  all  the  colors  which 
were  scattered  over  the  hillside  when  the  last 
rainbow  was  broken.  It  gives  me  plenty  to  do 
to  check  the  strong  fellows  who  are  too  aggres- 
sive, to  succor  the  tender  infants  which  are 
lost  in  the  crowd,  and  to  eject  the  intruders 
who  have  not  yet  won  their  right  to  be  con- 
sidered of  the  elect.  And  from  it  I  wander 
away  to  the  shrubs  which  begin  to  swagger 
and  straggle,  and  to  the  tiny  trees  which  are 
like  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  rampant  grass. 

1 66 


CHIMNEY   SWALLOWS 

But  the  day  waxes  hotter  and  hotter. 
Overhead,  far,  far  above  me,  there  are  birds 
in  long  circling  flight,  but  the  songs  of  the 
morning  are  stilled.  It  is  pleasant  to  seek  the 
shelter  of  the  study,  with  its  restful  shade. 

Seated  in  an  easy-chair  my  eyes  wander 
here  and  there  over  the  dear  familiar  objects 
which  date  from  the  days  which  are  no  longer, 
the  days  when  the  world  was  young.  And  at 
last  they  rest  upon  a  tile  upon  which  I  see  a 
nest  and  birds,  and  an  inscription — painted 
how  long  ago,  who  shall  say?  by  one  whom 
the  world  tired  out,  lo!  these  many  years 
agone:  "  Joy  dwells  under  the  roof-tree  where 
the  stork  has  built  his  nest."  Alas!  the  stork 
came  not.  On  the  bare  stairway  of  the  new 
house  I  hear  no  patter  of  tiny  feet ;  the  rippling 
sound  of  no  merry  voices  breaks  upon  my  ear. 
A  subdued  murmur  of  crickets  and  other 
chirping  things  always  fills  the  air;  from  time 
to  time  in  through  the  open  window  comes 
the  whir  of  a  distant  locust,  but  within  there 
is  nothing  to  disturb  my  loneliness.  Even 
drowsy  Kittiwink  is  wandering  somewhere  in 
a  kitten's  heaven. 

But  a  slight  stir  touches  my  ear.  I  wake 
from  my  dream  and  listen.  For  a  moment 
all  is  still ;  then  I  hear  in  the  chimney  a  well- 
remembered  muffled  sound  and  a  flutter,  and 
then  I  know:  the  Home  is  no  longer  New,  for 
the  swallows  have  come ! 

167 


XXIV 
KITTIWINK 

PERMIT  me  to  introduce  to  you  Kitti- 
wink,  the  direct  successor  of  the  de- 
posed and  suppressed  Titus  Androni- 
cus.  Just  at  the  present  writing  he  is 
sitting  on  the  desk  before  me,  with  both  paws 
upon  my  left  hand,  but  what  is  true  of  him 
at  one  moment  is  not  apt  to  be  true  of  the 
next.  For  example,  having  completed  my 
sentence,  I  find  him  cuddled  down  against  my 
hand,  with  the  fore  part  of  his  body  upon  the 
sheet  of  paper,  and  his  head  about  three  inches 
away  from  my  pen.  I  think  that  he  has  closed 
his  eyes,  which  are  turned  away  from  me,  and 
determined  to  take  a  nap,  for  ordinarily,  as 
soon  as  I  begin  to  write,  down  goes  his  paw 
upon  the  point  of  my  pen,  so  concealing  the 
paper  from  me  and  making  writing  rather 
difficult,  while  not  greatly  aiding  composition. 
He  has  great  times  in  the  pigeon  holes  of 
my  desk,  not  showing  due  respect  to  the  lucu- 
brations of  genius  there  stored,  but,  in  fact, 
rather  inclined  to  make  sport  of  them.  He 
does  not  usually  "  stay  put  "  longer  than  about 
"  half  a  shake,"  at  the  end  of  which  time  he 

168 


KITTIWINK 

either  has  the  end  of  my  penhandle  in  his 
mouth  or  is  smearing  the  ink  about  at  its  point 
and  transferring  it  so  as  to  make  autographs 
of  Horace  Greeley  upon  another  sheet. 

I  think  that  Kitty  is  about  four  weeks  old 
come  some  time  or  other  in  the  future.  He  has 
now  ruled  the  mansion  for  ten  or  twelve  days, 
and  most  of  my  garments  bear  testimony  to  the 
fact  in  the  fringed  and  tasselated  appearance 
which  they  show  because  of  his  sharp  talons. 
For  he  seems  to  be  under  the  impression  that 
my  legs  are  intended  as  a  sort  of  inverted 
toboggan  slide,  up  which  it  is  great  fun  to  go 
at  such  speed  as  the  fates  permit,  more  or  less 
successfully,  according  to  the  depth  to  which 
said  talons  penetrate.  It  does  not  much 
matter  whether  I  am  at  my  desk  or  at  the 
table,  the  performance  is  always  in  order.  He 
discovered  the  beauties  of  this  diversion  while 
I  was  at  my  first  meal  after  his  arrival,  and  it 
took  him  very  few  seconds  to  reach  my  shoul- 
ders. When  he  is  lazy  he  just  snuggles  down 
against  the  back  of  my  neck  and  goes  to  sleep, 
but  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  is  often  lazy. 
Usually  he  finds  it  much  pleasanter  to  reach 
around  with  his  paw  and  catch  at  my  whiskers, 
or  to  rasp  my  ear  with  his  tongue,  or  to  chew 
and  claw  at  my  back  hair.  He  does  not 
molest  that  upon  my  forehead  and  the  top  of 
my  cranium,  for  obvious  reasons.  When,  as 
occasionally  happens,  his  ascent  is  impeded  by 

169 


KITTIWINK 

a  long  tablecloth  resting  against  my  knees  and 
making  for  him  the  sign,  "  No  thoroughfare," 
he  quietly  succumbs  and  curls  around  and  goes 
to  sleep  at  the  point  to  which  he  happens  to 
have  attained.  I  suppose  that  to  him  it  is 
something  like  passing  the  night  at  the  Grands 
Mulcts. 

If  I  could  think  it  quite  possible  for  a  feline 
creature  to  form  positive  and  disinterested  at- 
tachments, I  should  believe  that  he  was  really 
fond  of  me,  for  he  welcomes  me  in  the  morn- 
ing and  follows  me  from  room  to  room  as  a 
dog  might,  and  seems  always  happier  when 
somewhere  about  my  person.  His  capacity 
for  fun  is  absolutely  unlimited,  and  a  life  of 
joking  seems  the  normal  condition  of  his  exist- 
ence. He  is  quite  conscious  that  his  teeth  and 
claws  are  becoming  long  and  sharp,  and  he 
makes  free  use  of  them,  testing  carefully  how 
much  I  will  bear,  taking  hold  of  my  finger,  for 
example,  and  squinting  up  at  me,  or  laying  his 
ears  back  while  he  holds  it  with  a  certain  grip, 
waiting  to  see  what  I  wTill  say.  When  he 
becomes  a  little  too  free  in  the  use  of  his 
weapons  I  box  his  ears,  and  he  understands 
just  as  well,  and  I  think  a  little  better  than  a 
small  human,  what  I  mean  by  it. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  humor  and  the  super- 
abounding  vitality  of  a  kitten,  one  would  be 
disposed  to  think  that  the  domestic  cat  had 
become  in  large  measure  a  parasite,  living  upon 

170 


KITTIWINK 

members  of  the  human  race.  But  I  imagine 
after  all  that  we  must  esteem  it  an  animal 
possessed  of  the  largest  possible  capacity  for 
appreciating  comfort,  an  animal  to  which  com- 
fort has  become  the  one  supreme  essential  of 
existence,  to  be  followed  after  with  whomso- 
ever it  is  to  be  found,  without  respect  to  per- 
sons. 

I  have  heard  it  said  that  there  are  females 
of  the  human  race  (Homo  fells,  fem.\  a  purr- 
ing, cuddling  kind,  having  precisely  the  same 
characteristics.  Was  not  Manon  Lescaut  one 
of  these  ?  Poor  Manon !  How  wholly  un- 
congenial it  was  to  her  to  have  a  bad  quarter 
of  an  hour  anywhere !  She  had  a  Puritan  con- 
science, turned  inside  out,  and  the  pattern  did 
not  come  through  to  the  other  side. 

On  Sunday  last  Kittiwink  had  a  new  ex- 
perience. On  Sunday  morning  we  had  a 
sharp  hoarfrost.  The  atmosphere  was  as 
clear  as  a  bell,  and  every  object  scintillated 
tinder  the  brilliant  sunshine.  But  the  cold 
wind  from  the  north  sent  a  chill  to  the  bones, 
for  only  four  days  earlier  we  had  recorded  the 
highest  temperature  of  the  year.  Therefore  I 
heaped  wood  upon  the  broad  fireplace  and 
soon  had  a  sparkling,  blazing,  crackling  fire 
casting  a  warm  glow  over  the  study.  Puss 
had  never  seen  such  a  thing  before,  and  his 
antics  were  very  amusing.  Fortunately  the 
screen  prevented  him  from  reaching  it,  or  I 

171 


KITTIWINK 

doubt  not  we  should  in  about  two  minutes 
have  had  a  generous  distribution  of  the  burn- 
ing stuff  over  the  floor  of  the  study.  As  it 
was,  he  had  to  content  himself  with  running  to 
and  fro  and  poking  his  nose  against  the  screen, 
scampering  off,  and  quickly  returning  to  reach 
after  the  fire  with  his  paws. 

And  how  genially  the  world  smiled  as  the 
flames  arose!  The  spirit  of  comfort  seized 
me  also,  and  I  resigned  myself  to  an  easy-chair, 
and  the  companionship  of  Stevenson  in  his 
charming  "  Inland  Voyage."  And  there  I 
came  across  such  a  comfortable  sentence !  "  It 
is  a  commonplace  that  we  cannot  answer  for 
ourselves  before  we  have  been  tried.  But  it  is 
not  so  common  a  reflection,  and  surely  more 
consoling,  that  we  usually  find  ourselves  a 
great  deal  braver  and  better  than  we  thought." 

Now  I  am  going  to  confess  that  I  am  an  ar- 
rant coward.  The  students  from College 

intimate  that  this  is  because  I  never  indulged 
in  the  divine  game  of  football — never  had  a 
one-hundred-and-fifty-pounder  jump  upon  my 
back,  and  never  jumped  upon  the  back  of  any- 
one else,  or  even  knocked  him  down  and  sat  on 
his  head.  They  say  that  until  this  amusement 
came  into  vogue  the  people  of  the  world  were 
a  set  of  milksops,  and  were  it  to  cease  to  be 
practiced,  they  would  deteriorate  into  jellyfish. 
This  is  probably  so.  I  can  see  that  had  I  had 
these  advantages  I  might  be  sitting  up  o' 

172 


KITTIWINK 

nights,  bravely  preparing  to  make  round  holes 
in  the  dun  deer's  hide  by  the  light  of  a  pine 
torch,  or  be  getting  up  in  the  chill  of  the 
morning  and  valiantly  yanking  out  of  the 
pearly  water  delicate  speckled  trout,  all  shin- 
ing and  sparkling  in  the  first  rays  of  the  dawn, 
and  then  ingeniously  stringing  them  upon  a 
forked  stick.  But,  oh!  how  they  would 
wriggle ! 

Ah!  how  I  wish  that  I  were  a  brave  man 
like  one  of  these!  Instead  of  that,  I  have  to 
stand  (or  sit)  revealed  inanely  watching  the 
gambols  of  Kittiwink,  or  warming  my  super- 
ficies before  an  open  wood  fire,  and  in  spirit 
accompanying  the  lamented  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  as  he  gently  meanders  over  the 
bosom  of  the  Oise,  idly  counting  the  strokes  of 
his  paddle  and  fearing  lest  he  should  remember 
the  hundreds. 

And  then  I  recall  for  my  consolation  the 
sentence  which  I  have  quoted  above.  And  I 
read  how  he  says:  "I  wish  sincerely,  for  it 
would  have  saved  me  much  trouble,  there  had 
been  someone  to  put  me  in  a  good  heart  about 
life  when  I  was  younger;  to  tell  me  how 
dangers  are  more  portentous  on  a  distant 
sight ;  and  how  the  good  in  a  man's  spirit  will 
not  suffer  itself  to  be  overlaid,  and  rarely  or 
never  deserts  him  in  the  hour  of  need."  And 
as  I  pass  out  at  the  door  and  look  upon  the 
distant  hills,  blue-green,  and  clear-cut  against 

173 


KITTIWINK 

the  lighter  sky — as  I  see  the  leaves  still  pulsing 
with  sap,  and  incessantly  moving  as  though 
full  of  life,  as,  indeed,  they  are — as  I  listen  to 
the  crickets  and  other  insects  filling  the  air 
with  their  chirping  by  day  as  by  night,  I  feel 
that  somehow  we  are  all  tied  together,  and 
that  it  is  very  pleasant  not  to  be  at  war;  but 
that,  perhaps,  if  war  must  come,  Fitz James, 
with  his  back  against  a  rock,  might  find  him- 
self all  right  after  all,  even  though  he  had  not 
been  brought  up  to  feed  upon  raw  English- 
man. 


174 


XXV 
MY   SPORTING   COLUMN 


I    HAVE  often  heard  housekeepers  express 
a  strong  desire  for  the  invention  of  a  new 
animal  by  means  of  which  they  might 
add  to  their  repertoire  of  viands  for  the 
table.     We  are  all  familiar  with  the  school- 
boy 's  choice  of  meats — ram,  lamb,  sheep,  and 
mutton.     There  is  certainly  monotony  in  this, 
but  even  the  more  extended  bill  of  fare  which 
is  supplied  on  ordinary  boards  leaves  some- 
thing to  be  desired,  according  to  the  house- 
wife. 

In  like  manner  there  are  those  upon  whom 
the  familiar  entertainments  of  life  sometimes 
pall.  To  them  existence  becomes  flat,  stale, 
and  unprofitable,  and,  like  Alexander,  they 
crave  yet  other  worlds  to  conquer.  I  am 
about  to  present  to  these  an  inestimable  boon, 
a  new  form  of  sport — the  adventurous  chase 
after  flying  game. 

I  do  not  believe  that  it  has  ever  occurred  to 
you  what  possibilities  there  are  in  the  wasp. 
I  mean  the  real  wasp,  the  paper  wasp,  Polities 

175 


MY   SPORTING   COLUMN:   I 

rubiginosus,  if  that  is  his  favorite  name;  not 
any  of  your  milk-and-water  "  digger  "  wasps. 
These  may  be  interesting  in  their  way,  but 
they  are  not  exciting.  But  the  paper  wasp — 
ah !  I  approached  him  at  first  with  hesitation 
and  awe.  I  discovered  him  about  a  fortnight 
ago.  He  had  built  a  few  nests  upon  the  under 
side  of  the  roof  in  the  loft,  and  was  very 
properly  and  industriously  engaged  in  raising 
a  large  and  promising  family.  He  appeared 
in  considerable  numbers,  and  being  myself  yet 
ignorant  of  the  rules  of  the  sport,  I  did  not 
know  how  to  handle  him.  Possibly,  however, 
the  method  which  I  adopted  was  not  so  bad 
after  all. 

I  might  have  burned  down  the  cottage,  but 
this  did  not  seem  wise.  After  mature  de- 
liberation, I  fastened  to  the  end  of  a  piece  of 
bamboo  a  tin  funnel,  the  tube  of  which  I  had 
stopped  with  cotton.  Taking  another  wad  of 
cotton,  I  soaked  it  thoroughly  with  chloro- 
form, and  placed  it  in  the  funnel ;  and  then,  -by 
a  rapid  movement,  surrounded  my  prey,  press- 
ing the  funnel  firmly  against  the  roof.  After 
holding  the  apparatus  there  long  enough,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  to  cause  vertigo  upon  the  part 
of  the  victims,  I  scraped  off  the  nest,  and 
killed  the  half-dazed  occupants  one  by  one. 

This,  I  thought,  was  the  end  of  the  matter ; 
but  no.  Since  then,  morning  and  night,  I 
have  visited  the  precincts  at  the  top  of  the 

176 


MY   SPORTING   COLUMN:   I 

house,  and  night  and  morning  I  have  found 
new  members  of  the  tribe  gathered  on  the 
under  side  of  the  skylight  or  upon  the  window 
in  the  gable.  And  then  came  the  excitement 
of  the  chase.  There  are  various  ways  in 
which  it  can  be  prosecuted.  I  have  found  a 
yardstick  and  a  portiere  rod  both  useful,  each 
in  its  appropriate  place.  If  your  aim  is  good 
you  may  hit  the  fellow  at  .the  first  shot  and 
bring  him  to  the  floor  and  then  dispatch  him 
at  your  leisure.  If,  however,  your  glasses  de- 
ceive you  (and  glasses  are  endowed  with  a 
certain  depravity),  you  may  strike  just  upon 
one  side,  whereupon  your  intended  victim  will 
make  a  rush  as  quick  as  thought,  and  where  he 
will  take  you  you  do  not  know  until  the  time 
comes.  Then  you  step  back  quickly  and  find 
yourself  just  an  inch  and  a  half  from  the  scut- 
tle-way. These  are  the  interesting  incidents 
of  the  chase,  but  when  you  become  skillful 
they  are  limited  in  number.  I  have  been  stung 
twice;  once  upon  the  finger,  when  no  wasp 
was  visible — this  was  by  a  sort  of  surplus  sting 
which  was  lying  around  loose  somewhere;  the 
other  time  on  the  cheek,  on  which  occasion,  by 
a  sudden  brush  of  my  hand,  I  prevented  the 
sting  from  going  deep,  there  not  being  enough 
cheek  to  hold  it  firmly,  and  at  the  same  time 
flung  my  spectacles  down  into  the  second  story, 
thus  entailing  on  their  part  a  three-days'  visit 
to  the  city. 

177 


MY   SPORTING   COLUMN:   I 

The  bedrooms  have  also  proved  a  fruitful 
hunting  ground.  The  favorite  spot  there  is 
a  narrow  space  between  the  ceiling  and  a 
molding  over  the  dormer  windows.  One 
evening  I  bagged  fifteen  in  a  single  room,  and 
I  never  have  wholly  failed  of  some  success  for 
twenty-four  hours.  But  the  game  is  becoming 
scarce.  That  is  because  I  have  not  encouraged 
it,  but  rather  the  contrary.  My  skill  has  not 
really  increased,  and  I  feel  that  my  methods 
too  nearly  resemble  those  of  the  boy  who  uses 
worms  for  bait.  I  am  too  uniformly  success- 
ful. I  am  dispirited,  like  the  young  woman 
whose  shopping  expedition  was  a  failure  be- 
cause she  found  what  she  asked  for  at  the  very 
first  shop  that  she  entered.  But  I  am  sure  that 
the  sport  can  be  so  managed  as  to  prevent  the 
extinction  of  the  game  and  to  maintain  the  in- 
terest of  the  chase. 

Indeed,  it  is  a  handy  game  for  all  classes. 
But  if  there  is  anyone  to  whom  it  must  come 
as  a  positive  delight,  it  is  to  the  three  hundred 
ninety  and  nine,  or  whatever  may  be  the 
proper  number  at  this  particular  date.  Just 
think  of  it  as  an  entertainment  in  country 

houses  in  or  elsewhere.  And  in  rainy 

weather  it  would  be  invaluable  both  for  men 
and  women.  It  could  be  so  conducted  as  to 
involve  a  considerable  amount  of  risk ;  I  could 
indicate  several  ways  in  which  this  could  be 
done.  And  I  am  sure  that  tackle  could  be 

178 


MY   SPORTING   COLUMN:   I 

invented  by  which  the  game  could  be  kept 
in  torment — "  played,"  as  it  were,  for  a  long 
period.  As  it  is,  it  has  more  lives  than  a  cat, 
and  wriggles  as  vigorously  and  more  vindic- 
tively than  a  fish. 

The  sport  could  also  be  transferred  to  the 
city,  and  I  think,  by  proper  adjustments  of 
heating  apparatus,  it  could  be  managed  that 
there  should  be  no  "  close  "  season.  And  as 
to  the  danger  of  an  exhaustion  of  the  supply, 
I  am  satisfied  that  this  need  not  be  feared. 
The  supply  depends  upon  the  demand,  and 
breeders  would  soon  arise,  ready  to  furnish  all 
that  could  be  required,  and  at  a  moderate 
price. 

I  am  in  hopes  that  nothing  more  will  be 
needed  than  these  few  words  to  further  the 
introduction  and  prosecution  of  this  most  at- 
tractive sport. 


179 


XXVI 

MY   SPORTING   COLUMN 
ii 

WHAT   an   extremely   thin   veneer 
civilization  is,  after  all,  whether 
in  cats  or  in  kings!     It  is  true 
that  my  recent  experience  in  cats 
(for  Kittiwink  is  but  new)  has  been  limited 
mainly  to  one — Titus  Andronicus — now,  alas ! 
no  longer  an  inhabitant  of  this  sphere,  at  least 
in  the  particular  form  in  which  I  knew  him. 
What    metempsychosic    form    he    may    have 
taken   (if  one  may  be  pardoned  such  an  ex- 
pression)  I  cannot  say.     But  as  a  cat,  Titus 
is  no  more. 

I  was  disappointed  in  Titus,  but  I  should 
not  have  been.  No  kind  maiden  aunt  had 
ever  presided  over  his  childish  frolics,  or 
taught  him  the  gentle  habits  befitting  a  do- 
mestic cat.  As  I  have  elsewhere  said,  his 
babyhood  was  spent  in  a  barn — not  a  bad 
place,  by  the  way,  in  which  to  have  a  good 
time,  but  a  place,  nevertheless,  where  bad 
habits  may  be  acquired. 

At   an    early   age   he  was    transferred    to 

180 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN:  II 

Underledge,  and  there  duly  installed,  with 
two  servants  wholly  at  his  disposal,  Hickory 
Ann  and  myself.  For  six  months  we  were  at 
his  beck  and  call.  All  that  we  could  do  for 
him  he  accepted  without  embarrassment,  but 
he  gave  little  in  return.  His  one  great  enjoy- 
ment was  to  lie  out  in  the  sun,  and  whenever 
he  was  approached  to  stretch  himself  at  full 
length  and  rub  against  anything  that  was 
handy,  saying  that  he  was  ready  to  be  stroked : 
yes,  he  experienced  one  greater  pleasure;  to 
be  lifted  up  from  the  floor  by  his  tail,  and 
allowed  to  fall  upon  his  feet.  This  was  a 
source  of  unfailing  delight,  and  always  re- 
sulted in  a  demand  for  an  encore. 

Titus  was  well  brought  up.  He  lived  upon 
the  fat  of  the  land.  He  had  a  fair  variety  in 
his  menu,  and  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
he  was  dissatisfied  with  his  board. 

He  should  have  realized  that  I  wanted  the 
poultry  for  my  own  use.  But  I  missed  many 
plump  chickens,  and  one  day,  happening  to  pass 
by  that  way,  and  hearing  a  great  commotion 
in  the  flock,  I  espied  Titus  speeding  toward 
the  wood  with  a  handsome  little  fledgeling  in 
his  mouth.  I  followed  him  under  the  trees, 
but  sought  him  in  vain.  Some  time  later  he 
was  seen  entering  the  house  licking  his  chops, 
with  an  expression  of  great  contentment  upon 
his  countenance.  And  so  Titus  was  doomed. 
.  My  experience  in  kings  is  less,  if  anything, 

181 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN:  II 

than  my  experience  in  cats.  At  Underledge 
we  are  all  stanch  republicans,  and  when  any 
kings  come  along  they  are  sent  incontinently 
to  the  tramp-house.  We  keep  them  in  seclu- 
sion, and  this  allows  full  play  to  our  imagina- 
tions. 

But  if  we  do  not  know  so  much  about 
kings  as  we  might,  we  know  about  the  rest 
of  mankind,  nous  autres,  and  we  notice  some 
curious  things. 

Once  upon  a  time,  I  saw  this  as  in  a  vision. 
It  was  in  a  forest  glade,  and 

"  The  murmuring  pines  and  the  hemlocks, 
Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments  green," 

cast  a  brooding  shade  over  the  sloping  banks. 
The  sunlight  fell  flickering  between  the  leaves, 
and  sparkled  upon  the  moss,  and  upon  the 
goldenrod  and  the  asters  with  which  it  was 
sprinkled.  Not  far  away  a  woodthrush  piped 
in  clear  ringing  tones ;  in  front,  a  broad  brook, 
which  had  just  fallen  over  ragged  rocks, 
tarried  for  a  moment  to  rest  in  a  deep  pool 
from  which  the  sunlight  was  broadly  reflected, 
and  then  launched  forward  with  ever-increas- 
ing speed,  to  hurry  faster  and  faster,  down, 
down  among  the  fragments  of  hard  granite, 
here  and  there  worn  smooth  by  the  clear, 
foaming  water.  Between  the  tree-tops  beyond 
the  brook,  the  blue  sky  seemed  palpitating  with 
light,  while  now  and  again  a  white,  fleecy 

182 


MY  SPORT  ING  COLUMN:  II 

cloud  floated  lazily  across  the  opening,  as 
soft  as  thistle-down.  Over  the  water  hovered 
an  ichneumon  fly,  Psyche,  or  some  other 
winged  thing,  and  sometimes  for  a  moment 
the  nose  of  a  trout  would  appear  above  the 
surface,  to  be  followed  immediately  by  a 
splash,  as  with  a  quick  curve  it  darted  away, 
its  tail  flashing  in  the  sunlight.  It  was  doubt- 
less following  some  insect,  and  probably  car- 
ried it  down  with  it.  The  leaves  gently 
rustled  in  the  slight  breeze,  and  save  this  and 
the  singing  of  the  birds,  the  voice  of  the  stream 
and  the  chirping  of  the  insects,  no  sound  fell 
upon  the  ear. 

Upon  this  sylvan  scene,  strolling  leisurely 
up  the  brook,  for  they  had  just  eaten 
heartily,  came  two  young  men.  One,  whose 
botanical  name  was  Homo  Venator,  was  tall 
and  broad-shouldered,  his  features  were  good, 
and  his  form  indicated  strength  and  vigor. 
He  carried  a  gun  on  his  shoulder.  Stepping 
aside  from  something  which  lay  in  his  path, 
he  quoted  from  him  whom  the  English  call 
"  Cooper," 

"  I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 

(Though  graced  with  polish'd  manners  and  fine  sense      -, 

Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm." 

"  Yet,"  said  the  other  "  you  will  find  men 
even  in  our  own  set,  with  no  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing in  such  matters." 

183 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN:  II 

"  True,"  said  the  first  "  but  no  one  of  fine 
breeding  could  voluntarily  expose  himself  to 
the  danger  of  being  a  witness  of  frequent 
scenes  of  cruelty." 

"  Apropos, — how  in  the  world  could  any- 
one voluntarily  take  up  the  occupation  of  a 
butcher?  "  said  the  other. 

"Ugh!  disgusting!  Don't  suggest  it.  It 
almost  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  the  things 
now  hanging  in  camp,"  replied  the  first. 

His  companion,  Homo  Piscator,  was  of 
medium  height,  with  well-knit  frame,  and  firm 
and  elastic  step.  He  carried  in  his  hand  a 
long  and  slender  rod,  fully  equipped  with  line 
and  sharp-barbed  hook  of  glossy  blue  steel. 
His  features  were  delicate  and  refined,  his  eye 
was  clear  and  intelligent.  For  a  moment  he 
looked  around  upon  the  quiet  scene  and 
seemed  to  drink  in  a  deep  draught  of  the  balmy 
air. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  more  perfect  and  har- 
monious picture?  "  said  he. 

His  friend  made  no  reply,  for  none  was 
needed.  To  add  epithets  to  the  scene  before 
them  would  be  to  paint  the  lily. 

While  Venator  seated  himself  in  the  shade 
with  his  back  to  a  splendid  pine,  Piscator  took 
his  stand  upon  the  rocky  bank,  and  opening  a 
tin  box  which  hung  at  his  side,  selected  from  a 
writhing  tangle  of  such,  a  red  worm  two  or 
three  inches  in  length.  This  he  proceeded  to 

184 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN:  II 

thread  upon  the  sharp  hook,  running  the  point 
through  it  here  and  there  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  keep  it  impaled  securely,  but  not  to  kill  it, 
the  worm  meantime  squirming  and  lashing 
itself  about,  stretching  out  to  its  utmost 
length,  and  then  retracting  until  its  segments 
were  crowded  into  the  closest  possible  contact. 
For  does  not  Izaak  Walton  say:  "  Put  your 
hook  into  him  somewhat  above  the  middle,  and 
out  again  a  little  below  the  middle;  having  so 
done,  draw  the  worm  above  the  arming  of 
your  hook;  but  note  that  at  the  entering  of 
your  hook  it  must  not  be  at  the  head-end  of 
the  worm,  but  at  the  tail-end  of  him,  that  the 
point  of  your  hook  may  come  out  toward  the 
head-end,  and,  having  drawn  him  above  the 
arming  of  your  hook,  then  put  the  point  of 
your  hook  again  into  the  very  head  of  the 
worm,  till  it  come  near  to  the  place  where  the 
point  of  the  hook  first  came  out;  and  then 
draw  back  that  part  of  the  worm  that  was 
above  the  shank  or  arming  of  your  hook,  and 
so  fish  with  it." 

He  did  this  work  deftly,  "  gently,  as  if  he 
loved  it,"  and  the  worm  remained  wound 
about  the  hook,  as  the  serpents  remain  twined 
about  Laocoon  and  his  sons  in  the  marble 
group,  but  not  motionless  as  they;  it  still  con- 
tinued to  writhe  and  twist  under  his  satisfied 
and  admiring  glance,  as  he  dropped  it  into 
the  quiet  pool. 

185 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN:  II 

Hardly  had  it  disappeared  when,  with  a 
dash,  a  fish  caught  and  shot  away  with  it,  the 
slender  rod  bending  as  the  line  bore  down 
upon  it.  To  and  fro  the  fish  darted  across  the 
pool,  the  rod  springing  and  swaying  as 
Piscator  followed  and  guided  it  here  and  there, 
with  set  face  and  eyes  intent.  Tired  at  length 
with  the  unequal  contest,  it  permitted  itself 
to  be  led  across  toward  the  nearer  bank,  and 
then,  by  a  dextrous  twitch  of  the  rod  and  line, 
to  be  lifted  from  the  water  and  thrown  over 
into  a  safe  depression  in  the  earth,  where  it 
curved  and  flounced  in  the  hot  sunlight,  try- 
ing to  release  itself  from  the  hook.  This, 
h6wever,  was  impossible,  for  it  had  passed 
through  the  gills,  in  which  the  barb  was 
firmly  fixed,  and  blood  was  flowing  from  a 
ragged  wound. 

The  fisherman  removed  it  with  usual  care, 
merely  tearing  through  the  gills,  and,  after 
weighing  the  fish  in  his  hand  with  an  approv- 
ing smile,  tossed  it  back  into  the  depression, 
where  it  resumed  its  dance  of  death.  He  then 
readjusted  the  bait.  It  was  nearly  all  there, 
one  end  only  having  been  torn  away,  and  it 
was  perhaps  even  more  animated  than  before, 
judging  from  the  manner  in  which  it  twisted 
and  turned  upon  the  hook.  He  therefore 
dropped  it  again  into  the  water. 

For  a  time  his  line  hung  motionless,  while 
the  denizens  of  the  pool  were  recovering  from 

186 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN:  II 

the  alarm  caused  by  the  recent  disturbance. 
The  eyes  of  the  fisherman  were  called  from 
time  to  time  to  the  trout  just  caught,  which 
now  flung  itself  into  the  air,  and  now  lay 
stretched  at  length  upon  the  ground,  smirched 
with  dust  and  bits  of  broken  leaves  and  twigs, 
and  laboriously  gasping  for  breath.  A  pull 
upon  the  line  recalled  his  attention.  It  lasted 
but  a  moment,  and  again  all  was  still.  Then 
another,  and  a  stronger  jerk,  and  the  line  ran 
across  the  pool,  but  again  became  motionless, 
A  third  pull,  and  then  a  twitch  of  the  elastic 
rod,  and  a  second  fish  dropped  beside  the  first, 
its  hold  being  upon  the  bait  alone.  The  fish 
previously  caught  was  agitated  anew  by 
the  fall  of  the  later  comer,  and  feebly  flopped 
about,  but  its  bright  eyes  were  becoming 
glazed,  and  its  motions  were  weak. 

The  bait  had  now  been  torn  to  shreds,  and 
only  a  tattered  fragment  of  a  red  worm,  with 
hardly  life'  enough  in  it  to  enable  it  to  move, 
remained  attached  to  the  hook.  This  Piscator 
removed  with  his  fingers,  and  in  its  place  he 
put  a  fresh  one,  disentangled  from  the  writh- 
ing mass  in  the  box,  and  the  hook,  with  its 
twirling  and  twisting  decoration,  was  again 
dropped  into  the  water. 

Meantime  the  silence  had  been  unbroken 
save  as  before  and  by  the  slight  additional 
rustle  caused  by  the  intermittent  tossing  of  the 
two  fish,  one  of  which  now  only  at  long  in- 

187 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN  :II 

tervals  made  a  convulsive  turn.  And  it  was 
but  the  snapping  of  a  slender  branch  that 
caused  the  man  with  the  gun  to  raise  his  eyes 
and  see  a  lithe-limbed  deer,  with  soft,  round 
eyes,  poke  its  head  through  the  bushes  some 
fifty  yards  away,  and  approach  the  water. 
Such  breeze  as  there  was  blew  toward  the 
men,  and  the  beast  seemed  quite  unconscious 
of  any  observer.  Advancing  confidently  to 
the  brookside,  it  dropped  its  muzzle  into  the 
water  to  slake  its  thirst. 

As  the  cool  and  refreshing  liquid  filled  its 
throat,  a  sharp  report  startled  the  forest. 
The  deer  made  one  leap  into  the  air,  and  fell 
upon  the  bank,  its  shoulder  broken  by  the  ball. 
At  the  same  moment  the  frightened  wood- 
thrush  fled  from  the  glen,  and  all  was  silence. 

Venator  sprang  forward,  and  made  his  way 
across  the  brook  to  the  spot  where  the  beast 
was  lying,  struggling  impotently  to  regain  its 
feet,  and  with  a  pathetic  appeal  in  its  great 
eyes.  Stooping  over  it  he  drew  a  sharp  knife 
across  its  throat,  and  a  stream  of  bright  red 
blood  spurted  upon  the  mossy  bank  and  flowed 
out  into  the  clear  water. 

There  were  as  many  creatures  as  before. 
Some  of  them  were  merely  dead.  And  the 
men  were  happy. 

What  is  it  that  the  French  quote  the 
English  as  saying?  "  It  is  a  fine  day;  let's  go 
and  kill  something." 

188 


MY  SPORTING  COLUMN:  II 

And  who  was  that  man — either  of  them? 
"  Get  homme,  c'etalt  Tartarin,  Tart  arm  de 
Tar  as  con,  I'intrepide,  le  grand,  I' incomparable 
Tar  tar  in  de  Tar  as  con." 


189 


XXVII 
AN    IRIDESCENT    DREAM 

WHAT  a  mistake   it   is   to  permit 
yourself  to  be  caught  in  the  com- 
pany of  those  who  really  know 
that    which    you    only    seem    to 
know!     I  am  not  sure  that  this  misfortune 
happens  more  frequently  to  the  man  of  letters 
than  it  does  to  other  members  of  the  com- 
munity, but  it  certainly  is  not  an  uncommon 
occurrence  with  him,  and  it  is  sufficiently  dis- 
agreeable. 

Just  look  at  the  situation.  The  literary 
artist  gets  hold  of  the  fag  end  of  an  idea  out 
of  which  he  thinks  something  can  be  made, 
and,  an  idea  being  a  valuable  article,  and  not 
too  common,  he  naturally  cherishes  it  and 
exploits  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  Before 
him  are  his  foamy  suds,  and,  like  the  late 
Tityrus  T.  Patchouli,  procumbent  under  the 
wide-spreading  beech  tree,  he  prepares  and 
plays  a  pretty  tune  upon  his  pipe,  as  Mr.  Pa- 
tchouli in  praise  of  the  lovely  Ama  Ryllis. 
His  pipe,  however,  is  not  made  of  those  flexible 
reeds  the  swaying  and  bending  of  which  in  the 
waters  of  the  Oise  brought  such  somber  mus- 

190 


AN    IRIDESCENT    DREAM 

ings  to  Stevenson.  No — it  is  a  plain  dudeen, 
or  at  most  a  clay  pipe,  which  has  the  making  of 
a  dudeen  in  it,  and  only  needs  a  fall  upon  the 
ground  to  perfect  it. 

And  he  does  his  work  with  care.  His  idea 
is  but  a  breath,  a  ($etft,  an  inspiration  as  it 
were,  but  he  gives  it  a  gorgeous  housing.  He 
blows  gently  upon  his  pipe — neither  too 
strongly  nor  yet  too  weakly,  but  with  a  steady 
current,  as  if  his  dudeen  were  a  blowpipe,  and 
he  were  making  an  analysis  of  the  heart  of  a 
coquette.  Do  you  remember  what  Addison 
said  of  a  coquette's  heart? 

"  We  laid  it  into  a  pan  of  burning  coals, 
when  we  observed  in  it  a  certain  Salamandrine 
quality,  that  made  it  capable  of  living  in  the 
midst  of  fire  and  flame,  without  being  con- 
sumed or  so  much  as  singed." 

But  he  is  engaged  in  no  such  invidious  oc- 
cupation; he  is  simply  contributing  his  mite 
to  the  gayety  of  nations.  And,  as  he  blows, 
his  microcosm  takes  form — a  tiny  globe,  all 
his  own,  proudly  swelling  as  he  breathes  into 
it  the  breath  of  life.  At  first  it  appears  but  as 
a  simple  translucent  ball,  rather  dense  and 
colorless,  but  showing  latent  possibilities. 
And  he  blows,  and  the  ball  expands,  and  upon 
its  shining  surface  he  begins  to  find  echoes  of 
the  universe,  a  bit  of  light  here,  and  a  bit  of 
shadow  there,  with  men  as  trees  walking,  all 
a  little  dreamy,  it  may  be,  characterized 

191 


AN    IRIDESCENT    DREAM 

by  a  certain  spherical  aberration,  but  very 
"  fetching  "  withal.  And  as  he  blows,  and 
the  sphere  still  enlarges,  the  lights  and  shad- 
ows become  more  distinct,  and  the  figures  take 
on  more  dignified  and  graceful  forms,  and 
assume  gradually  the  hues  that  float  in  the 
heavenly  bow,  or  lie  treasured  in  the  pearl. 
And  anon  these  tints  deepen  into  a  chromatic 
glory  and  revolve  upon  the  inflated  globe, 
which  mirrors  all  the  world  clad  in  an  ineffa- 
ble firelight: 

"  The  light  that  never  was,  on  sea  or  land; 
The  consecration,  and  the  Poet's  dream." 

And  then,  his  task  completed,  with  a 
dexterous  sweep  of  his  pipe  he  sets  free  his 
master  work,  that  new  world  which  is  a  sort 
of  apotheosis  of  the  old.  It  is  all  true,  but 
perhaps  it  is  not  all  the  truth. 


She  was  a  phantom  of  delight 

When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight, 

A  lovely  apparition,  sent 

To  be  a  moment's  ornament." 


And  Zephyrus  generously  takes  it  in  his 
arms  and  bears  it  aloft,  all  glorious  in  the 
light  of  the  golden  day,  and  the  people  clap 
their  hands,  and  not  only  rejoice,  as  they 
should,  at  the  vision  of  beauty  which  they  see 
before  them,  but  imagine  that  the  piper  is  a 

192 


AN    IRIDESCENT    DREAM 

dictionary  of  the  fine  arts  and  a  compendium 
of  human  knowledge.  And  they  ask  him  all 
sorts  of  questions,  and  he  is  compelled  to  dis- 
cover that  his  ears  have  become  so  attuned  to 
ethereal  harmonies  that  they  cannot  perceive 
grosser  sounds,  or  to  plead  another  engage- 
ment. 

Then,  perhaps,  there  comes  along  the  un- 
comfortable individual  to  whom  I  alluded  in 
the  beginning,  the  one  that  really  knows  it, 
and  this  is  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all. 
And  he  also  thinks  that  the  artist  knows  it  all, 
and  very  courteously  makes  a  casual  remark 
about  something  with  which,  of  course,  the 
latter  is  perfectly  familiar  (but  which  he 
never  heard  of  in  his  life),  to  which  he  replies 
with  an  interrogative  "  Yes  ?  "  not  knowing 
what  else  to  say;  or  the  newcomer  asks  him  a 
question  or  two,  and  the  artist,  having  no  life 
preserver  about  his  person,  and  being  unable 
to  plead  an  alibi,  gently,  sweetly,  and  modestly 
says  that  he  doesn't  know.  And  so  it  goes  on, 
and  he  seems  to  see  the  point  of  the  needle 
entering  into  his  bubble,  and  has  a  feeling 
that  the  whole  affair  will  go  off  in  a  flash,  and 
that  nothing  will  remain  but  a  tiny  drop  of 
soapsuds  upon  the  needle's  point. 

For  a  moment  he  feels  dizzy,  and  he  closes 
his  eyes.  When  he  reopens  them,  there,  thank 
Heaven!  yet  floats  his  pretty  ball,  still  gleam- 
ing in  the  sun,  and  he  inwardly  prays  that  the 

193 


AN    IRIDESCENT    DREAM 

people  may  not  have  noticed  his  attack  of  ver- 
tigo or  that  which  caused  it.  Probably  they 
did  not,  and  so  thinking,  he  puts  on  a  brave 
front,  but  the  iron  has  entered  into  his  soul. 


194 


XXVIII 

HOW    TO    ORIENT    ONE'S 
SELF 

THERE  are  many  situations  in  which 
individuals  are  called  upon  to 
orient  themselves  where  the  condi- 
tions are  not  so  simple  as  in  that 
which  at  the  moment  I  have  in  mind.  For 
instance,  when  a  man  has  been  suddenly 
"  knocked  into  the  middle  of  next  week,"  as 
the  phrase  is,  an  experience  to  which  I  imagine 
that  most  of  us  have  unhappily  been  exposed 
at  some  time  in  the  course  of  a  checkered 
existence.  The  perplexity  in  such  cases  is 
great,  for  next  week  is  an  unknown  quantity. 
Looking  back  over  unnumbered  years,  it  seems 
to  me  that  I  remember  a  quotation  which  ran 
something  like  this:  "Mother,  when  will  to- 
morrow come?  Each  morning,  when  I  ope 
my  eyes,  I  look  for  to-morrow,  and  behold! 
it  is  to-day."  And  I  suppose  that  next  week 
is  quite  as  far  off  as  to-morrow,  and  quite  as 
uncertain  in  its  whereabouts. 

Even  upon  local  option  and  sundry  other 
questions  social  and  political,  it  is  not  always 
easy  to  dream  true,  and  I  am  told  that  on  mat- 

195 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S    SELF 

ters  connected  with  life,  death,  and  judgment 
to  come — "  Fix'd  fate,  free  will,  foreknowl- 
edge absolute  " — there  is  apt  to  be  confusion. 
And  in  this  little  oasis  between  the  silences,  it 
is  far  from  easy  sometimes  to  adjust  one's 
relations  in  time  and  space.  There  are  some 
things  which  we  do  not  know,  although  in  cer- 
tain circles  one  would  hardly  suspect  it.  I 
suppose  that  most  of  us  one  day  reach  the  point 
of  thinking,  as  we  look  out  upon  the  starry 
heavens,  and  there  note  millions  upon  millions 
of  mighty  bodies,  uncounted  and  uncountable, 
receding  one  beyond  another  into  apparently 
illimitable  space,  where  the  greatest  telescope 
ever  constructed  cannot  exhaust  them,  and  at 
least  extending  to  distances  far  beyond  the 
power  of  the  mathematician  even  to  begin  to 
guess,  each  hung  upon  nothing,  and,  so  far  as 
we  can  tell,  coming  from  nowhere,  and  going 
nowhither — most  of  us,  I  say,  reach  the  point 
of  thinking  that  we  are  "  very  small  potatoes," 
and  don't  know  much,  not  even  where  the  bin 
is  or  what  it  is  like ;  but  that,  after  all,  we  are 
a  part  of  the  crop,  and  pretty  sure  to  be  looked 
after.  And  so  we  commit  ourselves  to  the 
eternal  current,  and,  like  the  mighty  orbs,  go 
swinging  on  our  way,  according  to  laws  which 
we  did  not  fashion,  and  against  which  we 
should  rebel  in  vain. 

Notwithstanding   the    proper   contempt    in 
which  the  man  who  knows  it  all  holds  any 

196 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S    SELF 

agnostic,  we  are  sometimes  forced  into  the 
ignominious  position  of  confessing  that  we 
do  not  know.  But,  like  the  man  who  went 
to  the  Circumlocution  Office,  we  want  to 
know,  you  know,  and  we  find  a  pleasant  ex- 
citement in  the  search  after  truth,  even  though 
we  may  not  progress  very  far. 

The  particular  thing  which  I  wanted  to 
know  upon  this  occasion  was  how  to  find  "  the 
points  of  the  compass/'  as  the  phrase  goes, 
although  this  does  not  express  it — namely,  the 
east,  west,  north,  and  south — not  a  very  for- 
midable problem,  most  will  think,  but  less 
easy  of  solution,  as  I  soon  discovered,  than  at 
first  blush  it  appeared  to  be. 

I  think  that  I  have  noted  the  fact  more 
than  once  before,  but  perhaps  for  clearness  it 
may  be  well  to  repeat  that  from  my  rustic 
veranda  I  look  far  to  the  northward,  until  the 
view  is  bounded  by  a  range  of  hills  or  moun- 
tains some  thirty  or  thirty-five  miles  away,  in 
Massachusetts;  mountains  which  in  such  an 
atmosphere  as  that  of  to-day  come  out  with 
clear  and  strong  outlines,  but  at  other  times 
lie  concealed  in  haze  which  seems  but  a  part  of 
the  autumn  sky.  About  half-way  thither, 
two  singular  rounded  hills  rise  from  the  valley, 
the  sides  facing  each  other  being  very  steep. 
These  are  locally  known  as  the  Barndoor 
Hills,  or,  by  those  more  poetically  inclined,  as 
the  Portal  of  the  Valley  or  the  "  Gates  of 

197 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S    SELF 

Paradise."  My  own  private  belief  has  always 
been  that  the  axis  of  the  earth  revolves  in  the 
groove  between  them,  and  it  was  to  prove  this 
thesis  that  I  undertook  the  investigation  which 
I  now  purpose  to  relate.  And  I  relate  it 
because  someone  else  may  desire  to  do  a  similar 
thing,  and  that  I  may  show  how  involved  (for 
an  ignoramus)  that  may  be  which  at  first 
thought  seems  most  simple. 

Of  course  my  first  adviser  says :  "  You 
goose!  Why  don't  you  take  a  compass  and 
draw  your  north  and  south  line  by  it?  "  The 
suggestion  is  an  admirable  one,  the  principal 
objection  lying  in  this:  that  the  one  point 
toward  which  the  compass  needle  does  not 
point  is  the  north.  On  the  contrary,  it  points 
persistently  away  from  the  north,  and  in  vari- 
ous directions  at  various  places  and  at  various 
times,  varying  slightly  even  in  the  course  of  the 
day.  At  London,  in  1837,  it  pointed  about  24 
degrees  west;  fifty  years  later,  at  the  same 
place,  it  pointed  out  20  degrees  west.  At 
the  latter  period,  in  New  York,  it  pointed 
about  7  degrees  west,  while  in  San  Francisco  it 
pointed  about  17  degrees  east.  In  this  neigh- 
borhood at  the  present  time  the  variation  is 
somewhere  about  10  degrees  west.  But  this 
is  only  the  beginning  of  sorrows,  for  in  the 
proximity  of  trap  ledges,  where  there  is  more 
or  less  iron,  there  are  abnormal  variations 
which  cannot  be  calculated  upon,  and  the 

198 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S    SELF 

compass,  therefore,  may  not  be  accounted  as  in 
any  way  an  instrument  of  precision.  Con- 
sequently, exit  the  compass. 

"Well,  then,  why  don't  you  take  an  ob- 
servation of  the  sun  at  midday  and  draw  your 
line  from  that?"  As  the  parrot  says  in 

Dr.  's  story :  "  That's  very  good.  I 

wonder  what  he  is  going  to  do  next?  "  The 
sun  is  a  plain,  bright,  open-faced  creature,  with 
no  nonsense  about  him,  and  he  crosses  the 
meridian  visibly  (if  he  should  not  happen  to 
be  cloudy),  once  every  day.  But  when? 
Aye,  there's  the  rub!  The  arrangement  by 
which  our  affairs  are  run  upon  standard  time 
is  a  great  convenience,  but  it  tells  us  lies  about 
the  period  of  all  events  at  every  locality  ex- 
cepting those  upon  the  standard  meridian. 
In  all  this  region,  for  example,  we  are  travel- 
ing upon  (nearly)  Philadelphia  time;  a  very 
good  sort  of  time  in  its  way,  but  not  just  the 
same  sort  we  used  to  have  when  we  were 
boys.  To  find  local  time,  we  must  discover 
the  difference  of  longitude  and  make  the  neces- 
sary correction. 

Taking  this  course,  and  assuming  the  cor- 
rectness of  the  best  accessible  maps,  made  upon 
the  basis  of  the  official  survey,  I  find  that  our 
local  time  is  approximately  nine  minutes  in 
advance  of  standard  time.  So  far  so  good. 
But  having  proceeded  so  far,  I  stumble  against 
the  greater  difficulty  of  the  difference  between 

199 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S   SELF 

mean,  or  clock,  time,  and  apparent,  or  solar, 
time,  these  appearing  not  to  coincide  excepting 
upon  April  16,  June  16,  September  i,  and 
December  25.  Between  these  dates  they  wan- 
der around  at  their  own  sweet  will,  clock  time 
being  either  fast  or  slow,  as  the  case  may  be, 
and  the  difference  in  November  being  as  great 
as  sixteen  minutes.  To  obtain  my  meridian 
from  the  sun,  therefore,  I  must  know  that  my 
watch  is  correct  as  to  standard  time,  I  must 
know  my  exact  longitude,  and  I  must  know 
whether  mean  time  is  fast  or  slow,  and  how 
much.  A  slight  error  in  either  of  the  condi- 
tions would  make  a  material  difference  in  the 
result,  and  it  is  not  easy  for  the  ignoramus  to 
make  sure  that  he  is  right  as  to  all. 

There  is  one  resource  left — that  is,  to  take 
an  observation  of  Polaris,  the  north  star. 
Why  did  I  not  think  of  this  before?  I  did 
think  of  it  before,  and  this  is  what  came  of  it. 
Attaching  a  small  stone  to  a  piece  of  cord  long 
enough  to  reach  nearly  to  the  floor,  I  made  a 
rude  plumbline,  which  I  suspended  from  a 
bracket  of  the  veranda.  After  long  and 
watchful  waiting  I  found  a  calm  evening,  or 
one  so  nearly  calm  that  my  pendulum  was 
practically  motionless;  then,  humbling  myself, 
with  my  eye  close  to  the  floor,  so  that  I  could 
see  Polaris,  (for  it  is  surprisingly  exalted  in 
this  latitude),  I  took  the  range  and  made  a 
record  mark  for  which  purpose  I  found  that  a 

200 


;    TO   ORIENT   ONE'S   SELF 

pair  of  etching  needles  which  I  planted  in  the 
floor  of  the  veranda  proved  very  serviceable. 
When  the  opportunity  came  for  comparing 
the  position  thus  found  with  my  two  hills,  I 
discovered  that  it  would  not  do  at  all;  the 
axis  was  not  in  its  proper  groove,  and  the  earth 
must  of  necessity  move  with  a  constant  jar, 
not  to  speak  of  the  displacement  of  the 
equinoxes. 

And  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  North 
Star  is  not  in  the  north,  but  revolves  around 
the  North  Pole,  (or  appears  to  do  so,  because 
of  the  rotation  of  the  earth),  like  all  the  other 
stars,  and  I  began  a  new  search  of  the  en- 
cyclopaedias, etc.,  for  the  facts.  I  was  slow 
in  discovering  them,  and  the  statements  in 
regard  to  the  facts  did  not  always  agree;  but 
after  a  while  I  found  that  the  North  Pole  it- 
self is  on  a  lark — that  it  is  swinging  around  a 
circle  upon  a  journey  which  will  take  about 
26,000  years  to  complete.  Happily,  just  now 
it  is  neighborly  to  Polaris,  which  revolves 
about  it  at  a  distance  variously  stated  at  from 
\me  degree  and  fifteen  minutes  to  one  degree 
and  twenty-one  minutes. 

Now,  this  was  making  progress,  but  it  was 
some  time  before  I  discovered  upon  which  side 
of  Polaris  I  should  look  for  the  pole.  At 
length  I  learned  that  it  was  in  a  direction 
nearly  opposite  to  the  first  star  ( 77  or  Benet- 
nasch)  in  the  handle  of  the  Dipper;  but  how 

20 1 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S   SELF 

much  space  in  the  heavens — that  is,  how  much 
space  as  compared  with  the  apparent  distances 
between  the  stars — a  degree  and  a  quarter 
would  be  I  could  only  estimate. 

I  did  estimate  it,  however,  and  my  next 
observation  was  followed  by  a  much  more 
satisfactory  result.  And  then  I  happened  to 
turn  in  a  direction  in  which  I  should  have 
turned  in  the  first  instance  had  my  foresight 
been  as  good  as  my  hindsight,  which  I  believe 
is  rarely  the  case.  On  examining  my  plani- 
sphere with  care,  I  found  explicit  directions  for 
ascertaining  the  hour  and  minute  when  Polaris 
is  on  the  meridian  upon  any  day  in  the  year. 
For  the  benefit  of  those  who  may  come  after 
me  I  will  record  here  that  this  meridian  pass- 
age occurs  at  about  midnight  (local  time) 
on  October  8,  at  eleven  o'clock  on  October  23, 
ten  o'clock  on  November  8,  nine  o'clock  on 
November  23,  eight  o'clock  on  December  8, 
seven  o'clock  on  December  24,  and  six  o'clock 
on  January  8.  I  mention  these  hours  as  the 
most  convenient  for  observations. 

It  is  true  that  in  the  use  of  this  method,  as 
well  as  in  the  observation  of  the  sun,  the 
difference  between  standard  and  local  time 
must  be  taken  into  the  account,  but  extreme 
accuracy  is  not  so  essential,  for  the  rotation  of 
Polaris  is  in  so  small  a  circle  that  an  error 
of  even  several  minutes  in  time  is  likely  to 
cause  less  difference  in  the  result  than  is 

•4 

202 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S    SELF 

practically  inevitable  in  drawing  the  line. 
And  within  the  same  limit  of  inaccuracy  the 
matter  of  time  may  be  left  out  of  the  account 
altogether  at  points  farther  north  than  this, 
when  the  atmosphere  is  very  clear  near  the 
horizon.  For  when  the  plumbline  crosses 
Polaris  and  Benetnasch  both  at  the  same 
time,  the  pole  also  is  so  nearly  on  the  line 
as  to  give  the  meridian  as  accurately  as  it 
is  likely  ever  to  be  obtained,  except  by  an 
expert. 

I  could  not  allow  my  fresh  information  to 
become  rusty.  In  the  rural  districts  we  keep 
early  hours,  and  in  the  ordinary  course  of  pro- 
cedure I  should  have  to  wait  for  a  month  be- 
fore finding  an  opportunity  to  use  my  newly 
acquired  knowledge.  However,  the  privilege 
having  been  afforded  me  of  seeking  after 
strange  adventures  in  "  The  Wood  Beyond 
the  World,"  I  managed  to  worry  through 
until  some  time  after  midnight,  when  I  could 
obtain  a  proper  range.  The  air  was  not  ab- 
solutely still,  but  was  sufficiently  so  to  enable 
me  to  prove  my  thesis  and  show  to  all  succeed- 
ing ages  where  lies  the  pole,  Peary,  Jansen, 
Nordenskjold,  or  any  or  all  others  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding. 

Since  these  experiments  were  initiated  and 
carried  to  an  approximate  conclusion,  my  ap- 
preciation of  the  work  of  the  compilers  of  the 

203 


TO   ORIENT   ONE'S   SELF 

ninth  edition  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica 
has  been  greatly  enhanced  by  the  discovery 
that  they  recommend  the  same  method  for 
ascertaining  the  meridian  which  I  had  adopted. 


204 


XXIX 
A  FAIR   DAY 

THE  wise  cannot  be  wise  all  the  time, 
and  this  is  a  very  large  country  over 
which  to  keep  watch  and  ward. 
It  is  perhaps  therefore  not  remark- 
able that  on  Friday  evening  the  weather 
prophet  issued  this  prediction  as  a  forecast  for 
Saturday : 

"  New  England — The  weather  will  con- 
tinue fair,  but  with  increasing  cloudiness  dur- 
ing the  day;  possibly  local  showers  at  night; 
southerly  winds." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  began  to  rain  at 
noon  on  Saturday,  and  for  twenty-six  hours, 
with  two  or  three  intermissions  of  a  few 
minutes  only,  it  has  continued  to  rain,  with  a 
heavy  wind — almost  or  quite  a  gale,  blowing 
from  the  northeast.  My  great  cistern  is  over- 
flowing, and  deep  channels  have  been  worn  in 
the  inclined  driveway,  to  prevent  the  increase 
of  which  I  have  been  pressed  into  service  as  a 
sapper  and  miner,  to  reopen  lateral  drains. 

The  rain  is  driven  in  gusts,  sometimes 
nearly  in  horizontal  lines,  carrying  with  it 
such  leaves  as  have  been  sufficiently  loosened 

205 


A   FAIR   DAY 

from  the  branches  to  yield  to  its  pressure,  with 
which  the  fields  are  becoming  thickly  strewn, 
while  many  have  been  driven  with  such  force 
against  the  house  as  to  have  firmly  attached 
themselves  to  my  eastern  wall.  Most  of  the 
time  I  seem  to  be  in  the  midst  of  the  clouds, 
very  coarse  wet  clouds,  indeed;  and  then  the 
rain  slackens,  and  I  see  denser  clouds  trailing 
their  draggled  skirts  over  the  valley,  or  the 
hills  beyond. 

Though  it  is  well  toward  mid-October  the 
fields  are  very  green,  and  the  trees  also  for  the 
most  part,  but  with  yellow  and  brown  en- 
croaching here  and  there,  and  now  and  then  a 
brighter  hue,  especially  in  the  lower  portion 
of  the  valley  where  the  swamp  maples  (were 
the  sun  to  gleam  upon  them)  would  shine  out 
resplendent  in  a  burst  of  scarlet  and  crimson. 

When  for  a  moment  this  morning  it  seemed 
that  the  cloud  canopy  might  break  away,  the 
nearer  slopes  of  Talcott  Mountain  suddenly 
showed  an  effect  emulating  that  of  a  gorgeous 
flower  garden ;  the  deep-toned  evergreens  over- 
hanging the  Pilgrim's  Path  serving  as  a  foil 
for  the  profusion  of  color  upon  the  deciduous 
trees. 

Whereas  the  preceding  south  wind  was  icy 
cold,  by  a  singular  perverseness  of  nature  this 
present  blast  from  the  north  and  east  is  mild 
and  soft.  Yesterday  furnished  a  fair  excuse 
for — nay,  demanded  as  a  necessity — that  blaz- 

206 


A   FAIR   DAY 

ing  hearth  which  is  the  very  soul  of  home ;  but 
now,  I  am  afraid  that  there  is  no  such  justifi- 
cation for  the  fire-worshiper,  and  the  mild- 
ness of  the  temperature  compels  endurance  of 
the  dullness  and  dreariness  of  the  scene. 

The  wind  and  the  rain  have  brought  the 
nuts  rattling  to  the  ground,  and  adventurous 
hunters  have  already  laid  in  an  ample  store. 
This  is  not  nutting  as  I  remember  it  in  the  old 
boarding-school  days,  when  everything  was 
couleur-de-rose!  I  recall  the  autumn  "  nut- 
ting privileges "  as  the  very  center  of  the 
happy  hours  of  youth. 

We  made  our  calculations  long  in  advance, 
and  surreptitiously  obtained  knowledge  of  the 
most  promising  localities.  There  were  wal- 
nuts, and  butternuts,  and  shellbarks,  chestnuts 
and  hazelnuts  to  be  had,  but  I  remember  es- 
pecially the  occasions  devoted  to  the  shell- 
barks  and  the  hazelnuts.  The  former  grew 
in  the  woods,  or  along  the  creek  in  the  valley ; 
the  latter  upon  special  hillsides.  Before  the 
time  likely  to  be  selected  (a  holiday  or  half- 
holiday  called  a  "  privilege,"  granted  for  the 
purpose)  we  had  formed  partnerships,  or 
divided  into  companies,  each  striving  to  corral 
at  least  one  swift  runner,  and  then  when  the 
signal  was  given,  it  was — ho,  for  the  harvest 
field! 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  appropriate  a  definite 
number  of  hazel  bushes  as  to  claim  a  definite 

207 


A   FAIR   DAY 

walnut  tree  or  shellbark  tree,  but  still  some- 
thing could  be  done  in  this,  and  the  "  hazel 
privilege  "  was  the  time  of  greatest  enjoyment, 
at  least  for  me.  A  bright  clear  day  was 
always  selected,  and  were  it  only  the  delight  of 
tramping  through  the  rustling  leaves,  where 
the  hillside  here  and  there  opened  over  the 
valley,  the  sun  gleaming  through  the  thinning 
foliage  and  lying  warm  upon  the  fresh  carpet, 
it  were  a  delight  and  a  joy  forever. 

Do  boys  find  pleasure  in  such  simple  things 
in  these  modern  days,  I  wonder?  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  confess  to  such  low 
tastes,  and  it  may  not  be  an  adequate  ex- 
tenuation that  the  royal  year  was  culminating 
in  a  glory  of  color,  marking  in  softening 
shades  valley  and  hillside  to  the  farthest  reach 
of  the  eye;  that  the  pure  intoxicating  air 
stirred  the  crisp  leaves  and  those  just  fallen, 
among  which  we  shuffled  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  their  crackling  response,  and  here  and  there 
a  hare  or  a  squirrel  sprang,  or  a  partridge 
whirred  at  our  approach;  while  over  all  great 
argosies  of  cloud  floated  in  a  sea  of  sky  so 
clear  as  to  show  in  truth  illimitable  depths. 
Let  it  only  be  said  deprecatingly  that  we  were 
so  young,  so  very  young ;  so  young  indeed  that 
the  fairy  finger  of  old  Mother  Nature,  then 
laid  upon  our  impressible  spirits,  left  thereon 
an  indelible  sign  and  token  that  we  belonged 
to  her  fellowship. 

208 


A   FAIR   DAY 

But  let  me  look  at  the  thermometer.  It  is 
only  66°  in  the  study  and  it  should  be  68° ; 
the  deuce  is  between  us.  I  am  sure  that  I 
need  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  else  dire  calamities 
impend.  Ah!  that  is  something  like!  How 
the  bits  of  pine  flare  and  the  larger  wood 
crackles  and  sputters,  startling  poor  Kitti- 
wink,  and  almost  frightening  him  out  of  his 
wits!  The  logs  are  still  damp,  for  they  have 
but  recently  been  brought  in  from  the  shelter 
of  the  wood  under  the  ledge,  and  have  never 
basked  freely  in  the  broad  sunlight.  The 
tongues  of  flame  diminish  as  the  dry  wood  is 
consumed;  there  is  a  hissing  sound  as  of  es- 
caping steam,  and  gray  smoke  drifts  up  the 
chimney  and  reappears  outside  the  windows, 
falling  to  the  ground,  for  the  barometer  is 
very  low.  Presently  the  wood  will  have  dried 
out  sufficiently  to  burn  more  freely.  Mean- 
while Kittiwink  has  subsided  upon  his  ac- 
customed cushion  in  the  big  armchair  at  the 
end  of  the  mantelpiece,  and  with  his  nose 
buried  between  his  forepaws  and  his  forehead 
resting  upon  them,  is  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
just.  I  see  that  he  is  a  diaphragm  breather, 
as  I  am  told  that  all  babies  are,  however  far 
they  may  be  led  astray  afterward,  and  although 
his  throat  and  chest  appear  motionless,  his 
loins  and  abdomen  have  a  strong  and  rhythmic 
rise  and  fall.  Now  he  hears  a  door  closing  in 
another  part  of  the  cottage,  rises  into  a  sitting 

209 


A   FAIR   DAY 

posture  without  opening  his  eyes,  stretches 
himself,  and  then  again  cuddles  down  to 
rest. 

What  a  blessing  it  is  that  the  fire  does  not 
continue  to  burn  brightly  and  steadily !  Think 
what  a  loss  there  would  be,  if  we  had  no  op- 
portunity to  stir  it  and  poke  it,  pull  this  log 
forward,  and  push  that  one  back,  and  generally 
indulge  in  all  sorts  of  experiments.  Every 
way  makes  our  game,  and  the  embers  glow 
again,  and  the  flame  springs  up,  and  like  a  liv- 
ing thing  curls  around  the  hissing  fuel. 

Is  there  any  wonder  that  men  should  be 
fire-worshipers?  I  think  the  wonder  is  that 
they  should  not  be  so.  One  falls  to  musing 
as  he  sits  in  an  easy-chair  watching  the  flame, 
and  thinking  how,  month  by  month,  these 
many  years  cell  has  been  added  to  cell  and  fiber 
to  fiber;  how  the  essence  of  the  rock  and  the 
essence  of  the  water  and  the  essence  of  the  air 
have  collaborated  in  building  up  this  harsh  and 
rugged  trunk,  which  now  in  as  mysterious 
fashion  unfolds  itself  and  soars  aloft,  exhal- 
ing with  light  and  heat  into  the  infinite  from 
whence  it  came. 

I  have  been  beguiling  the  stormy  hours  with 
"  L'Homme  qui  Rit  " — lazily,  in  the  English, 
partly  because  I  have  it  in  the  house  only  in 
that  form,  partly  because,  to  tell  the  truth, 
the  French  of  Victor  Hugo  is  not  so  easy  as 
some  for  a  man  whose  French  is  only  rough 

210 


A   FAIR   DAY 

and  ready,  and  I  am  not  in  the  humor  for 
much  work. 

Victor  Hugo  is  a  poet  rather  than  a  novel- 
ist. His  images  pile  up  around  him  until  he  is 
submerged.  As  an  artist  it  must  be  said  that 
he  "  niggles."  If  I  may  for  a  moment  com- 
pare great  things  with  little,  he  is  a  poet  in 
somewhat  the  same  school  as  Walt  Whitman. 
No!  hardly  that.  Whitman — pace,  all  ye 
his  admirers — always  niggles.  He  is  the  poet 
of  the  index  (considering  the  character  of 
many  of  his  poems,  one  might  say,  of  the  Index 
Expurgatorius),  of  the  catalogue  raisonne. 
Victor  Hugo  is  much  more  than  that,  for  he 
is  a  great  writer — really  great.  He  overloads 
his  brush;  he  introduces  disquisitions  which 
are  not  pertinent;  he  winds  and  twists  and 
travels  all  around  Robin  Hood's  barn;  he 
sometimes  builds  so  many  houses  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  see  the  town;  but  he  has  himself 
seen  the  town,  and  he  knows  what  is  in  it,  and 
in  the  houses  as  well,  and  manages  to  give  you 
a  very  clear  perception  of  it  after  all.  There 
is  little  that  he  does  not  see,  and  in  the  im- 
mense profusion  you  are  pretty  sure  to  dis- 
cover that  which  is  your  own,  and  find  your 
characteristic  note  ringing  out  amid  the  hub- 
bub. 

But  how  he  does  load  his  canvas!  He 
paints  impasto,  and  uses  the  palette-knife. 
And  it  is  in  the  modern  fashion  of  laying  on 

211 


A  FAIR   DAY 

raw  color,  and  no  half  tints.  He  is  just  a 
little  Icmgtoetlig  sometimes,  perhaps, — you  are 
fatigued,  partly  by  his  excess  of  color,  partly 
by  his  discursiveness,  but  just  when  you  are 
beginning  to  doze  off,  you  wake  up  with  a 
start,  and  find  live  creatures  all  about  you. 

Hour  has  passed  after  hour;  the  dark  day 
has  given  way  to  dark  night ;  the  fire  smolders 
on  the  hearth,  but  with  bright  coals  glowing 
amid  the  ashes;  and  the  heavy  drops  falling 
from  the  roof  indicate  that  the  "  fair " 
weather  still  continues,  with  a  good  prospect 
of  lasting  into  another  day. 


212 


XXX 

LAMB'S  TALES 

"  Little  Bo-Peep  has  lost  her  sheep — 
Where  shall  she  go  to  find  them  ? 
Let  them  alone  and  they'll  come  home 
With  all  their  tails  behind  them." 

MY  friend  Daphnis  Patchouli,  a  late, 
very  late,  descendant  of  the  well- 
remembered   Tityrus  T.   of   that 
name,  to  whom  I  have  heretofore 
referred,  has  frequently  expressed  to  me  hi? 
surprise  that  the  abandoned  farms  of  which  we 
hear  so  much,  and  other  little-used  territory 
in  these  New-England  States,  should  not  be 
employed  in  sheep  husbandry.     He  points  out 
to    me    numberless    stony    hillsides,     partly 
covered  with  more  or  less  worthless  timber 
and  partly  lying  open  to  the  sun — in  the  latter 
case  bearing  a  fair  growth  of  what  by  courtesy 
may  be  called  grasses, 

"  And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars 

Or  when  they  climb  the  sky  or  whenthey  sink, " 

and  by  little  else.     He  also  calls  my  attention 
to  many  hundred  square  miles  of  open  country, 

213 


LAMB'S   TALES 

upon  which  well-meaning  farmers  are  fight- 
ing a  losing  battle  for  the  world's  markets 
with  those  who  are  despoiling  the  Western 
prairies  of  the  treasures  of  their  rich  soil, 
seconded  in  this  commendable  enterprise  by  the 
magnificent  railway  kings.  And,  becoming 
bolder,  he  casts  an  admiring  glance  over  my 
green  mountain  meadow,  and  as  my  eye  fol- 
lows his  he  insinuatingly  asks  how  many  years 
it  will  be  before  I  recover  the  cost  of  seeding 
it  down  to  grass  last  season. 

And  when  I  reply  deprecatingly  that  the 
market  is  said  to  be  full  of  Western  hay,  and 
that  the  bicycles  will  not  eat  any,  either  of  the 
domestic  or  of  the  imported  article,  and  that  I 
think  that  I  shall  get  square  upon  the  account 
of  my  plowing  and  harrowing  and  fertilizing 
and  seeding  in  about  six  ^years,  if  I  am  very 
fortunate,  he  smiles  a  most  peculiar  and  most 
exasperating  smile. 

And  then  he  pictures  these  hills  and  fields 
studded  over  with  flocks  of  browsing  sheep, 
and  asks  me  to 

"  See  the  young  lambs,  how  brisk  and  gay 
On  the  green  grass  they  skip  and  play," 

and  that  sort  of  thing  from  the  primer  up. 
And  waxing  eloquent,  as  the  vision  fills  the 
eyes  of  his  spirit  (that's  right,  isn't  it? — or 
is  the  spirit  a  Polyphemus,  with  only  one 
optic — "  the  spiritual  eye  "?)  and  he  feels  the 

214 


LAMB'S   TALES 

blood  of  his  forefathers  stirred  within  him  to 
that  degree  of  placidity  which  marked  their 
race,  he  calls  upon  me  to  imagine  myself  with 
a  well-formed  crook  by  my  side,  reclining  on 
the  slumbering  hillside,  in  busy  idleness,  con- 
templating the  floating  clouds  above  me  or 
playing  upon  an  oaten  pipe 

"  In  notes,  with  many  a  winding  bout, 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out." 

to  any  or  all  of  the  Amaryllidaceae. 

And  this  touches  me  to  the  quick,  for  if 
there  is  any  sentiment  which  appeals  to  the 
natural  man  within  me,  it  is  the  sentiment  of 
quiescence.  Let  the  world  wag! 

Now,  I  don't  think  that  Patchouli  knows 
anything  about  the  tariff  on  wool,  whether 
it  is  on  or  whether  it  is  off,  and  I  am  sure 
that  he  could  not  tell  whether  there  is  money 
in  sheep  or  not,  for  he  never  analyzed  them. 
He  has  confessed  to  me  that  he  has  a  penchant 
for  a  very  tender,  juicy  chop,  provided  he  did 
not  know  the  lamb  from  which  it  came,  but 
this  is  about  the  limit  as  to  ultimate  purposes 
to  which  his  knowledge  extends. 

He  certainly  showed  a  vein  of  the  practical, 
so  far  as  his  lights  went,  in  discussing  the 
reason  which  has  been  alleged  for  the  dis- 
continuance of  sheep-raising  in  this  neighbor- 
hood ;  that  the"  sheep  were  frequently  worried 

215 


LAMB'S   TALES 

by  dogs,  and  that  sometimes  a  dog  would  kill 
twenty  or  more  of  them  in  a  night.  Said  he : 

"  Is  not  the  owner  of  the  dog  responsible 
for  any  sheep  which  he  may  kill?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  there  are  many 
dogs  prowling  around,  the  ownership  of  which 
is  unknown  or  unacknowledged." 

"  Is  there  any  difficulty  in  enforcing  a  re- 
quirement that  the  owner  of  a  dog  shall  put 
upon  him  some  unmistakable  distinguishing 
mark?" 

"  None  whatever." 

"  How  long  would  it  take  your  people, 
whose  fondness  for  killing  is  so  well  known, 
to  shoot  every  dog  found  without  such  a  dis- 
tinguishing mark?  " 

I  was  lying  in  wait  for  him,  and  here  I  had 
him  at  last. 

"Aha!  Mark  how  plain  a  tale  shall  put 
you  down;  that  would  be  something  useful; 
there  would  be  no  sport  in  that." 

But,  victorious  as  I  was  in  this  verbal  con- 
test, his  frequent  suggestions  led  me  to  think- 
ing, and  the  more  I  thought  the  more  I  was 
tempted  to  try  an  experiment.  But  experi- 
ments are  my  bete  noire.  I  am  always  trying 
experiments,  and  through  them  I  have  gained 
much  experience,  though  little  else.  It  would 
be  in  keeping  with  my  text  to  say  that  I  had 
gone  out  for  wool  and  come  home  shorn.  I 
have,  however,  learned  to  deliberate  before 

216 


LAMB'S   TALES 

embarking  on  a  new  enterprise  and  to  begin 
on  a  small  scale.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
this  is  not  invariably  a  reliable  method.  You 
will  remember  the  story  of  the  Indian  who, 
having  heard  much  of  the  softness  of  a  feather 
bed,  took  a  feather  and  laid  it  upon  a  rock, 
and,  after  tossing  upon  it  through  the  night, 
reported  that  if  one  feather  was  as  hard  as 
that,  he  did  not  want  a  whole  bedticking  full 
of  them. 

Being  bent  upon  the  experiment,  but  like- 
wise having  a  frugal  mind,  I  consulted  my 
neighbors.  Now  I  ought  to  say  that  I  rarely 
have  need  to  consult  my  neighbors  about  any- 
thing, being  usually  fully  advised  upon  all 
points  of  interest  before  I  have  really  become 
aware  that  I  need  assistance.  That  the  advice 
received  is  not  always  homogeneous  is  true.  I 
frequently  need  to  remember  the  instruction 
given  to  a  wayfarer  regarding  the  road  upon 
which  he  was  traveling:  "When  you  have 
gone  so  far  you  will  find  the  road  divide  into 
two  branches;  don't  take  both  of  them." 

Now,  was  it  in  this  instance  that  my  neigh- 
bors, with  malicious  intent,  desired  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  my  urban  ingenuousness,  or  was  it 
that  their  minds  were  preoccupied  with  sym- 
pathy touching  my  ill-fated  well  and  useless 
pump,  that  they  advised  me  to  begin  cautiously 
and  make  my  first  experiment  with  a  hydraulic 
ram?  This  species,  said  they,  is  hydropathic; 

217 


LAMB'S   TALES 

moreover,  it  is  stationary  and  will  not  disturb 
your  garden  or  other  appurtenances.  It  is 
said  that  a  wink  is  as  good  as  a  kick  to  a  wise 
man,  and,  desiring  to  gain,  if  I  might  not  yet 
aspire  merely  to  retain,  a  reputation  for  wis- 
dom, I  was  willing  to  give  them  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt,  and  assume  that  we  had  been 
talking  of  the  water  supply  all  the  time,  and 
so  I  listened. 

Do  you  know  what  a  hydraulic  ram  is  ?  A 
hydraulic  ram  is  a  mysterious  creature  which, 
being  properly  entreated  and  fed  with  a  large 
amount  of  water,  will  complacently  in  return 
send  a  small  amount  of  water  to  the  point 
where  you  wish  to  use  it.  Now  this  descrip- 
tion does  not  seem  to  define  it  as  very  different 
from  certain  other  servants  of  man,  but  never- 
theless it  is  quite  different  in  operation.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say  that  you  set  a  big  stream  of  water 
to  running  in  such  a  way  as  to  compress  into 
a  small  chamber,  the  lungs  of  the  creature, 
as  it  were,  a  body  of  air.  The  air  is  long- 
suffering,  but  at  length  rebels,  and  in  its 
struggle  to  escape  it  sends  a  small  stream  of 
water  climbing  up  hill.  Its  power  of  re- 
sistance being  soon  exhausted,  it  yields  to 
renewed  pressure  until  this  pressure  again 
becomes  too  great  to  be  endured,  and  so  on  ad 
mfinitum  if  nothing  breaks  and  nothing  wears 
out  and  the  roots  do  not  fill  up  your  pipes. 

This  looked  very  nice,  and  I  said :  "  Yes, 

218 


LAMB'S   TALES 

you  may  have  your  joke,  and  I  will  have  my 
hydraulic  ram,  and  I  will  lie  on  my  back  (if 
I  can  find  a  dry  spot)  and  play  upon  my  oaten 
pipe  and  watch  my  ram  as  it  sputters  and 
spouts,  instead  of  going  down  into  the  cellar 
and  pumping  water  up  from  the  cistern,  ha, 
ha!" 

So  much  determined,  I  was  reminded  of 
Mrs.  Glass's  recipe,  "  First  catch  your  hare." 
Where  was  my  stream  of  water  ?  Well,  there 
are  more  ways  than  one  of  doing  many  things. 
Down  in  my  old  pasture,  which  is  no  longer 
used  as  a  pasture,  at  the  foot  of  a  slope  upon 
the  lower  portion  of  which  are  three  or  four 
shallow  wells,  in  which  certain  of  my  neigh- 
bors are  said  to  have  a  prescriptive  right,  is  a 
marsh  or  swamp  sixty  or  eighty  feet  lower 
than  the  cottage.  A  marsh  is  always  an  in- 
teresting place,  especially  to  an  artist,  and  also 
to  one  who  is  fond  of  wild  flowers,  for  here  he 
will  find  them  in  the  greatest  profusion  and 
variety.  And  then  what  possibilities  of  snakes 
are  here,  not  to  speak  of  muskrats  and  other 
wild  fowl! 

My  marsh  was  always  full  of  standing 
water,  even  in  the  driest  season,  and  during 
and  after  heavy  rains  it  shed  a  torrent,  but 
there  was  no  constant  brook  perceptible.  At 
first  I  made  modest  demands  upon  it.  I  had 
two  or  three  shallow  pools  dug  at  slightly  dif- 
ferent levels,  that  nature  might  be  refreshed 

219 


LAMB'S   TALES 

by  looking  upon  the  reflection  of  herself  as  in  a 
glass,  with  open  cuts  running  from  the  upper 
to  the  lower.  In  doing  this  I  discovered  that 
instead  of  a  deep  deposit  of  loam  there  was 
merely  a  thin  coating  of  black  earth  over  a  bed 
of  blue  clay,  and  through  my  little  conduits 
ran  a  small  stream  of  water,  even  during  the 
September  drought. 

At  the  end  of  the  season  I  was  encouraged 
by  this  fact  to  make  a  bolder  demand,  and  I 
said  to  myself  that  if  I  should  run  a  drain 
eighteen  inches  deep  for  one  hundred  feet  or 
so  along  the  foot  of  the  slope  I  should  in- 
tercept all  the  water  which  was  hastening  or 
lazily  loitering,  as  the  case  might  be,  down 
from  the  high  land  into  the  marsh;  that  the 
various  contributions,  gathered  into  a  suf- 
ficient stream,  could  be  conducted  by  covered 
tiles  into  a  tank,  and  from  this  tank  a  drive 
pipe  could  be  led  into  a  pit,  to  the  ram,  from 
which  pit,  by  other  buried  tiles,  the  waste 
water  could  be  generously  deposited  in  the 
middle  of  my  neighbor's  lot. 

And  so  it  was  ordered.  And  soon  a  goodly 
stream  (on  a  small  scale)  was  running 
through  my  upper  drain,  and  off,  by  a  tem- 
porary outlet,  into  the  lower  pools. 

But  I  have  a  very  good  friend  who  is  a 
street  sweeper  in  New- York,  the  boss  of  the 
gang  (baas,  as  the  Dutch  had  it),  [alas!  poor 
Waring!]  who  knows  more  about  draining 

220 


LAMB'S   TALES 

than  anybody  else,  and  he  writes  me  that  my 
drains  should  go  eighteen  inches  deeper,  and 
the  tank  and  pit  accordin'. 

And  that  is  the  reason  why,  encased  in  big 
rubber  boots,  I  have  been  engaged  in  the  rain 
this  morning  in  fixing  grades  and  running 
lines.  The  laborers  were  frightened  away 
by  the  storm,  which,  it  is  fair  to  say,  was 
then  heavier  than  during  the  period  in  which 
I  was  out  in  it.  But  I  find  that  day  la- 
borers not  infrequently  become  discouraged 
early. 

Sooth  to  say,  the  digging  in  which  they  are 
engaged  is  not  an  agreeable  occupation.  The 
earth — in  part  a  stiff  clay — has  been  com- 
pletely saturated  with  water,  and  the  numer- 
ous stones,  large  and  small,  which  are  im- 
bedded in  it  are  held  as  a  stone  is  held  by  the 
wet  leather  of  a  boy's  "  sucker,"  and  yield  to 
solicitation  at  last,  if  they  do  yield,  with  a 
weary  sigh.  But  for  the  most  part,  the  earth 
is  a  close,  coarse  gravel,  which  has  not  been 
rolled  sufficiently  to  become  rounded,  in  which 
the  blows  of  the  pick-ax  make  a  weak  im- 
pression, while  the  men  stand  in  running 
water  of  anything  but  a  comfortable  tem- 
perature. 

The  long  and  sometimes  heavy  rain  has 
turned  my  tiny  stream  into  a  brawling  brook, 
a  small  percentage  only  of  which  would  supply 
my  modest  demands.  And  I  am  sanguine  that 

221 


LAMB'S   TALES 

this  percentage  will  be  mine,  under  all  but  the 
most  trying  conditions  of  our  particularly  try- 
ing climate.  And  should  I  be  successful  in  this 
case,  what  may  I  not  be  encouraged  to  at- 
tempt? Then,  revenons  a  nos  moutons. 


222 


XXXI 

THE   WASPS 

I   HAVE  written  of  my  experiences  with 
the  wasps  in  the  early  autumn.     As  the 
season  grew  colder,  because  of  my  vigor- 
ous hunting,  and,  as  I  now  suppose,  for 
other  reasons,  they  gradually  disappeared,  and 
for  some  time  none  were  visible.     Then  came 
certain  warm  days  when,  upon  going  again  to 
the   loft,   I   found   them   literally  swarming. 
For  a  while  I  tried  my  old  methods,  but  in 
vain.     It  was  like  Mrs.  Partingiton's  effort  to 
sweep  back  the  ocean  with  a  broom,  and  I 
was  shortly  driven  from  the  field. 

For  some  days  I  did  not  venture  into  the 
loft,  and  I  began  to  wonder  whether  I  might 
not  finally  be  wholly  driven  from  the  premises 
by  the  increasing  hosts.  I  had  never  heard  of 
any  such  event  happening,  but  neither  had  I 
ever  heard  of  such  an  onslaught  as  I  had 
already  experienced.  Stepping  upon  the  lad- 
der in  the  morning,  I  would  slightly  raise  the 
scuttle  and  peep  through,  but  as  quickly  close 
it  again  lest  the  enemy  should  take  to  the 
offensive. 

I  discovered,  however,  that  when  night  fell, 

223 


THE   WASPS 

and  especially  when  the  temperature  became 
somewhat  lower,  they  would  cease  flying,  and 
congregate  in  clusters  upon  the  glass  or  upon 
the  under  side  of  the  roof.  This  gave  me 
s.ome  courage.  And  then  one  happy  day  a 
neighbor  suggested  to  me  to  try  upon  them  a 
certain  insect  powder.  I  shall  not  advertise 
its  name  here,  but  if  anyone  desires  informa- 
tion concerning  it,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to 
respond.  Suffice  it  that  I  procured  some  of 
the  powder,  and  taking  advantage  of  a  period 
when  my  opponents  were  sluggishly  reposing, 
administered  the  dose.  The  effect  was 
magical.  It  did  not  kill  them  instantly,  but 
their  doom  was  sealed.  Dismay  entered  their 
ranks,  and  their  only  effort  was  to  flee,  but 
no  escape  was  possible  after  the  deadly  powder 
had  been  inhaled.  Day  after  day  I  followed 
up  the  attack,  and  morning  after  morning  I 
swept  up  the  victims  by  the  hundreds. 

After  a  number  of  days  the  re-enforcements 
seemed  to  fail,  and  then,  the  weather  growing 
colder,  the  supply  wholly  ceased.  With  the 
advancing  spring  I  shall  expect  new  tribes 
from  their  hiding  places,  but  I  fear  them  not. 
With  my  powder  and  my  rubber  bellows  I 
am  master  of  the  situation,  and  it  is  not  the 
Polities  rubiginosus  which  will  drive  me  from 
Underledge. 


224 


XXXII 

WATER,    WATER    EVERY- 
WHERE 

HEAVEN  is  occasionally  lavish  of  its 
bounties  when  we  least  need  them, 
and  sparing,  not  to  say  niggardly, 
when  they  would  be  most  accepta- 
ble. I  have  even  heard  wonder  expressed 
that  the  sun  should  shine  in  the  day,  when 
it  is  so  light,  and  not  at  night,  when  we 
are  so  greatly  in  want  of  it.  I  felt  this  quite 
poignantly  this  evening,  as  I  crossed  the  moun- 
tain meadow.  When  I  reached  the  entrance 
from  the  highway,  I  could  discern  some  ob- 
jects faintly  outlined  against  the  sky  which  I 
knew  must  be  the  posts  on  either  side,  and 
away  ahead,  a  dim  light,  not  the  usual  bright 
ray,  told  me  the  direction  of  the  cottage. 
Some  distance  to  the  right,  a  denser  blackness 
indicated  the  general  position  of  the  ledge. 
Somewhere  above  I  imagined  the  sky  to  be, 
and  somewhere  beneath  I  supposed  was  the 
earth,  for  I  stood  upon  something,  but  I  could 
distinguish  nothing  by  sight,  and  was  com- 
pelled to  feel  my  way  with  my  feet  over  the 
soggy  turf. 

225 


WATER   EVERYWHERE 

In  the  direction  of  the  valley  I  saw  lights  of 
varying  degrees  of  brightness  glimmering 
through  the  fog.  This  did  not  appear  to  be 
so  dense  as  it  had  been  during  the  day,  but  was 
simply  an  all-pervading  blackness. 

It  was  yesterday  that  it  rained — and  how  it 
did  rain!  From  long  before  daylight  (and 
the  daylight  did  not  amount  to  much)  until 
far  into  the  night,  it  beat  upon  the  earth  and 
upon  the  remaining  snow,  and  it  poured  over 
the  cliffs  and  over  the  frozen  but  thawing 
slopes,  gaining  volume  as  it  concentrated  in 
the  hollows  and  plunged  toward  the  valley. 
I  shall  say  nothing  about  the  cellar,  or  how, 
the  carefully  arranged  ditches  and  drains  hav- 
ing comfortably  frozen  up,  the  streams  com- 
bined to  pour  down  through  the  cellar  bulk- 
head, the  door  of  which  would  not  close  tight 
because  of  much  swelling, — fortunately  to  be 
immediately  carried  off  at  the  opposite  corner. 
It  was  a  happy  accident  that  the  builder  had 
been  brought  up  in  the  school  of  that  modern 
Greek  who,  what  time  there  happened  an 
unfortunate  giving  way  in  the  bow  of  his  boot, 
wisely  made  an  equivalent  aperture  through 
the  stern,  so  that  the  water  which  "  ran  in  at 
the  toe  ran  immejetly  out  at  the  heel."  In- 
cidents of  this  character  are  of  the  nature  of 
those  accidents  which  will  happen  in  the  best 
regulated  families,  and  should  only  be  men- 
tioned in  the  strictest  confidence. 

226 


WATER   EVERYWHERE 

Near  Sunset  Rock,  a  miniature  cataract, 
like  that  upon  a  mountain  stream,  fell  over 
the  ledge  into  the  ice-covered  road,  upon  which 
I  staggered  and  slipped  at  the  imminent  risk 
of  my  old  bones  in  trying  to  ascertain  the 
source  of  the  torrent. 

And  then  the  river  went  out  over  the  low- 
lands. Already  yesterday  afternoon  we  had 
heard  that  trouble  had  occurred  along  the 
Pequabuck,  and  that  one  of  our  neighbors  had 
found  the  bridge  gone,  and  had  been  com- 
pelled to  cut  his  horse  loose,  as  he  crossed  at 
"  Eight  Acre."  But  the  water  of  the  Tunxis 
had  only  begun  to  rise,  and  we  could  not 
expect  that  it  would  reach  its  full  height  be- 
fore this  morning.  And  the  morning  broke, 
or  perhaps  I  ought  to  say,  bent,  and  the  atmos- 
phere was  so  constructed  that  it  might  have 
been  cut  into  comfortable  slices,  and  my  neigh- 
bor's old  apple  trees  only  indicated  their  posi- 
tion by  an  almost  imaginary  tone  in  the 
grayness  which  enveloped  us.  And  there  was 
no  valley,  but  only  a  vast  sea  of  colorless 
cloud,  in  which  we  were  quietly  floating. 

I  hoped  to  look  out  during  the  day  upon  the 
great  lake,  which  is  one  of  our  luxuries  re- 
served for  special  occasions,  but,  though  the 
presumptive  line  between  the  visible  and  the 
invisible  varied  a  little  from  hour  to  hour,  it 
never  traveled  further  than  about  two  hun- 
dred yards  away.  And  so,  as  the  mountain 

227 


WATER   EVERYWHERE 

(alias  the  valley)  would  not  come  to  Moham- 
med, Mohammed  had  to  go  to  the  mountain, 
and  I  paddled  through  the  mud  to  the  shore  of 
the  new-made  sea,  and  formed  one  of  the 
company  gathered  to  look  out  over  the  waters 
and  endeavor  to  penetrate  the  veil  which 
shrouded  them  and  closed  the  view  on  every 
side.  And  I  was  told  that  the  water  was  fall- 
ing, but  that  it  had  been  a  half-inch  higher 
than  in  the  great  flood  of  1854,  tne  highest 
upon  record  (this  was  probably  an  under- 
estimate) ;  and  I  was  shown  a  nail  partly 
driven  into  a  telegraph  pole  at  the  side  of  the 
road,  which,  I  was  informed,  marked  the 
height  reached  on  that  former  important  oc- 
casion. And  it  did  not  occur  to  me  to  wonder 
how  that  telegraph  pole  had  preserved  its 
singular  freshness  through  these  forty  years, 
or  why  the  weather  and  the  boys  had  so 
leniently  treated  that  nail,  which  was  so 
clearly  in  evidence. 

Still,  these  little  mysteries  did  not  matter 
in  the  least,  but,  on  the  contrary,  were  in  keep- 
ing with  the  nature  of  the  scene.  For  it  was 
a  weird  scene,  indeed,  which  gained  marvel- 
ously  in  interest  and  attractiveness  because  we 
could  see  so  little  of  it,  and  because  it  was 
curtained  so  beautifully  by  the  dense  fog. 
Far  away  over  the  lowlands  we  had  reason  to 
know  that  cellars  were  flooded,  and  perhaps 
worse;  that  some  hundreds  of  bushels  of  pota- 

228 


WATER   EVERYWHERE 

toes  were  under  water  at  the  town  farm,  from 
which  the  animals  had  been  removed  earlier  in 
the  day,  and  so  on,  but  we  had  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  the  life  of  anyone  was  in  danger, 
as  had  been  sometimes  the  case  in  former  years, 
before  this  trick  of  the  river  had  become 
familiar,  as  history  relates.  For  are  there  not 
accounts  remaining  of  the  hearing  of  voices  of 
those  in  peril,  and  of  the  manning  of  boats, 
and  of  successful  attempts  at  rescue,  and  of 
some  that  were  not  successful?  The  town  has 
struggled  for  more  than  two  hundred  years  to 
maintain  its  roads  across  the  valley,  and  they 
are  there  sure  enough,  though  to-day  the  one 
at  the  south  end,  the  stage  road  to  the  station, 
is  far  beneath  the  water  for  nearly  or  quite  a 
mile,  and  here  at  the  north  end  we  know, 
though  we  cannot  see  much,  that  the  red 
bridge  forms  a  little  islet,  beyond  which  the 
highway  dips  immediately  into  the  water,  to 
reappear  only  far  away,  beyond  Round  Hill. 
And  alongside,  and  meandering  over  it  in  the 
most  exasperating  way  possible,  is  the  line  of 
trolley  rails — only  you  would  have  to  fish  for 
them. 

Of  the  only  house  in  view  from  the  point 
where  the  company  was  collected,  which  was 
partly  submerged,  it  was  whispered  that  it  was 
used  as  a  place  in  which  to  stow  ardent  spirits, 
and  whisky-and-water  seemed  a  very  appro- 
priate combination,  and  even  less  likely  to 

229 


WATER   EVERYWHERE 

prove  harmful  under  these  circumstances  than 
under  others  which  might  be  imagined. 

Now  and  then  a  canoe  or  a  rowboat  would 
slowly  take  form  and  emerge  from  nowhere  in 
particular,  generally  filled  with  frolicking 
lads;  and  once  a  round  dark  object  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  gradually  revealed  itself  as 
the  head  of  a  dog,  which  was  paddling  for  the 
shore,  but  looked  as  if  the  water  were  his 
natural  element. 

But  the  great  and  indescribable  beauty  of 
the  picture  was  in  the  trees,  which  loomed 
through  the  fog  in  every  degree  of  softness  of 
outline,  until  in  the  distance  they  became  an 
evanescent  blur.  Excepting  where  the  cur- 
rent rippled  against  the  iron  rails  of  the  trolley 
road,  as  they  lost  themselves  in  the  tide,  the 
surface  was  as  smooth  as  a  mirror,  and  in  this 
every  detail  of  near  or  distant  tree  was  re- 
flected with  absolute  fidelity,  and,  since  the 
gray  of  the  water  faded  into  the  gray  of  the 
fog  without  any  line  of  demarcation,  the 
firmament  under  the  waters  could  only  be 
distinguished  from  the  firmament  above  the 
waters  by  the  angle  of  reflection. 

And  all  this  water  we  are  going  to  waste 
by  sending  it  down  into  the  Quonehtacut,  and 
so  into  the  Sound,  where  it  will  lose  itself  in 
the  briny  deep,  which  is  full  enough  already. 


230 


XXXIII 
ONLY  THE   STARS 

FROM  my  watch  tower  on  the  hill 
I  see  so  much  sky  that  to  behold  it 
would,  I  am  sure,  make  the  child  of 
a  city  court  open  wide  its  eyes  with 
wonder.  It  is  real  sky,  too,  with  a  real  sun  in  it 
sometimes,  and  clouds  that  float  grandly  across 
its  vault ;  now  great  snowballs  and  now  moun- 
tains of  cloud,  Ossa  piled  upon  Pelion;  and 
then  long  lines  stretching  from  verge  to  verge, 
or  flocks  of  sheep,  or  great  flights  of  birds,  or 
thin  wisps  and  curls  of  silken  fiber.  And  at 
night  there  are  stars  in  it,  such  hosts  of  stars, 
glittering  and  twinkling  in  the  vast  firmament. 
And  I  try  to  picture  the  light  of  these  stars 
as  it  speeds  on  its  wonderful  journey  through 
space — light  which  left  its  home  in  other  years 
and  has  been  ever  since  flying  onward  toward 
me  at  the  rate  of  nearly  two  hundred  thousand 
miles  a  second.  Endeavor  to  realize  it — yet 
I  am  sure  that  the  endeavor  will  be  vain ! 

Perhaps  the  star  which  was  the  source  of 
this  light  became  darkened  long  ago;  yet  still 
plunging  forward  through  vacancy,  or  that 
which  we  esteem  such,  at  a  speed  which  we 

231 


ONLY   THE    STARS 

can  name  in  figures,  but  which  we  cannot  in 
the  least  appreciate,  a  speed  ten  million  times 
as  great  as  that  of  the  fastest  railroad  train, 
the  shell  of  light  of  the  vanished  orb,  sur- 
rounding it  upon  every  side  as  a  perfect  sphere, 
expands,  to  break  at  length  upon  our  earth  or 
upon  whatsoever  other  infinitesimal  particle 
of  the  sublime  universe  it  may  happen  upon  in 
its  course.  Like  a  soap  bubble,  but  instead 
of  bursting  it  continues  to  enlarge,  and  to  en- 
large as  though  distended  by  an  explosion  of 
giant  power  whose  force  is  unceasing,  and  to 
advance  at  a  rate  compared  with  which  that 
caused  by  an  explosion  would  be  the  merest 
child's  play.  For  the  light  spreads  fifty  thou- 
sand times  as  fast  as  the  impulse  produced  by 
the  ignition  of  gun  cotton. 

But  how  can  we  picture  these  things  so  as 
to  bring  any  definite  vision  before  our  minds? 
We  look  out  upon  the  "  quiet  stars  "  which 
are  having  their  own  fling  through  space  at  a 
rate  probably  of  many  thousand  miles  per 
minute,  but  at  a  distance  from  us  which  is  so 
great  that  any  motion  whatever  is  only  per- 
ceptible after  the  lapse  of  very  many  years. 
We  do  not  see  them  as  they  are,  but  as  they 
were  long,  long  ago.  This  much,  at  least, 
we  know :  it  is  not  the  stars  as  they  are  at  pres- 
ent that  we  see,  but  the  stars  of  the  past. 
The  same  stars  may  be  there  now,  but  only 
long  years  hence  we,  or  those  who  come  after 

232 


ONLY   THE    STARS 

us,  will  see  them  as  they  now  are.  We  are 
reading  the  history  of  the  past,  the  history  of 
the  universe,  day  by  day,  in  order  as  it  was 
written,  but  it  is  ancient  history. 

On  more  than  one  occasion  the  men  that 
scan  the  heavens  have  seen  a  star  appear,  or 
rapidly  increase  to  enormous  brightness,  and 
then  fade  into  insignificance.  This,  too,  was 
a  story  of  the  past.  They  read  the  tale  in  the 
message  brought  by  the  light  as  they  might 
have  read  it  in  a  newspaper  of  years  gone  by. 
The  calamity,  whatever  it  may  have  been,  was 
not  of  to-day.  Do  not  try  to  dodge  the  light- 
ning when  you  hear  the  thunder.  It  had  run 
its  course  and  performed  its  work  before  the 
first  muttering  of  the  message  throbbed  upon 
your  ear.  But  sound  is  very  slow;  it  takes 
nearly  five  seconds  to  travel  a  mile.  Yet, 
when  I  hear  an  express  locomotive  rumbling 
over  yonder  bridge  and  raise  my  eyes,  it  has 
already  safely  crossed  the  river  and  proceeded 
upon  its  way. 

A  prejudice  is  frequently  expressed  by 
scientic  men,  or  perhaps  I  should  rather  say 
by  pseudo-scientific  men,  against  "  popular 
science,"  by  which  I  understand  to  be  meant 
information  upon  various  themes  which  is  cast 
in  a  form  intended  to  interest  the  general 
public,  and  not  stated  in  the  strictest  scientific 
manner,  with  courses  and  distances.  I  can 
never  resist  an  opportunity  to  express  the 

233 


ONLY  THE   STARS 

strongest  possible  dissent  from  this  attitude. 
Illimitable  as  is  the  field  of  that  which  prob- 
ably must  remain  unknown,  and  almost  bound- 
less as  is  the  field  of  that  which  might  be 
known,  of  recorded  knowledge  the  extent  is  so 
vast  that  but  scraps  and  fragments  can  ever 
come  within  the  ken  of  any  one  individual, 
even  though  he  have  a  capacity  like  that  of 
Herbert  Spencer.  And  for  the  ordinary  man 
or  woman  of  the  world  (and  a  true  man  or 
woman  of  the  world  is,  I  imagine,  what  most 
of  us  are  ambitious  to  be),  it  is  wholly  im- 
possible to  be  fully  instructed  in  even  one  of 
the  sciences  which  together  form  the  sum  of 
human  knowledge. 

We  have  our  own  work  to  do,  our  own  part 
to  play.  Excepting  for  the  specialist,  it  is  not 
important,  however  interesting,  yes,  fascinat- 
ing, it  might  be,  that  all  that  is  knowable  upon 
any  subject  should  be  learned  and  assimilated. 
But  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  not 
merely  the  casual  individual,  but  everyone  of 
sufficient  intellectual  capacity  to  catch  a  glim- 
mering idea  of  anything  beyond  the  bare  bones 
of  existence,  should  gain  some  conception  of 
the  awe-full  universe  that  he  lives  in,  and  alike 
of  the  paradox  of  his  dignity  as  a  man  and  his 
utter  insignificance.  "  I  am  a  Roman  citi- 
zen! "  was  once  a  proud  cry;  "  I  am  a  citizen 
of  the  world !  "  should  be  a  prouder  cry,  but 
worthless  to  him  who  has  nothing  to  show 

234 


ONLY  THE   STARS 

pertaining  to  his  citizenship,  either  of  know- 
ing, of  being,  or  of  doing;  or  of  all  three  of 
these,  which  comprise  the  whole  duty  of  man. 

For  anything  beyond  the  mere  rags  and 
tatters  of  life,  the  awakening  and  the  educa- 
tion of  the  imagination  are  essential.  Ah !  let 
me  once  more  draw  my  bow  across  this  string ; 
like  the  G  string  of  Paganini's  violin,  it  is 
tuned  to  respond  to  all  the  music  of  the 
spheres.  Not  until  the  beauty  of  the  world 
and  the  wonder  of  life  impress  the  soul  with 
their  immeasurable  vastness,  and  not  until 
these  suggest  in  turn  a  wonder  and  a  beauty 
compared  with  which  they  are  but  as  the 
alphabet,  has  life  really  more  than  spent  its 
childhood.  Man  does  not  live  by  bread  alone  ; 
if  he  did,  the  shorter  his  life,  the  better  would 
it  be  for  all  hands.  To  be  a  man,  he  must 
live  in  the  spirit  as  well  as  in  the  flesh. 

But  to  do  this  it  is  not  necessary  that  he 
should  pack  his  memory  with  complete 
schemes  of  genera  and  species,  or  with  tables 
of  logarithms  or  co-efficients.  He  need  not 
know  all  the  data  in  relation  to  the  precession 
of  the  equinoxes,  or  every  possible  speculation 
regarding  the  fourth  dimension  of  space.  If 
his  life's  work  is  not  that  of  a  classifier,  or  an 
astronomer,  or  a  mathematician,  it  is  not 
necessary  for  him  to  know  these.  But  if  he 
be  a  man  of  the  world,  to  take  what  may  be 
accounted  an  extreme  example,  it  will  not  by 

235 


ONLY  THE   STARS 

any  means  be  valueless  to  him  to  know  what 
is  meant  by  the  fourth  dimension  of  space,  and 
to  learn  that,  whereas  we  have  been  ac- 
customed to  reckon  that  we  have  compassed 
all  of  form  by  taking  account  of  length, 
breadth,  and  thickness,  some  of  the  most  acute 
reasoners  of  the  age  have  thought  it  not  un- 
profitable to  speculate  upon  the  possibility  of 
another,  an  unknown,  dimension,  and  to  carry 
far  the  calculations  which  embody  such  an 
hypothesis. 

"  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy." 

How  it  is  possible  for  the  man  whose  vision 
extends  only  to  the  things  and  the  relations 
which  immediately  surround  him  to  have  any 
broad  or  just  views  of  sociology,  of  politics,  of 
religion,  of  anything?  One  may,  indeed,  have 
wide  knowledge,  and  his  views  may  yet  be 
worthless,  but  at  least  this  may  be  said  truly : 
that  unless  one  can  gain  a  point  of  vantage 
where  he  may  rid  himself  of  forced  and  false 
perspective,  his  views  are  liable  to  be  as  dis- 
torted and  misleading  as  those  sometimes  ap- 
pear to  be  which  were  taken  in  a  camera  with 
a  wide-angled  lens. 

Which  reminds  me  that  I  was  looking  out 
from  my  veranda  upon  "  the  cold  light  of 
stars, "  and  intended,  in  a  moment,  to  write  of 
quite  a  different  matter.  But  that  must  now 
pass  over  unto  a  more  convenient  season. 

236 


ONLY   THE   STARS 

"  The  stars,  in  their  courses,  fought  against 
Sisera,"  and  they  have  fought  against  me,  and 
compelled  me,  as  the  angel  that  met  Jacob  in 
the  way,  to  wrestle  with  them.  But  again  the 
story  of  Antaeus  comes  to  mind;  while  the 
struggle  continued,  each  time  that  he  was 
thrown  to  the  ground  he  arose  with  renewed 
strength.  Perhaps,  occasionally,  our  brains 
whirl  a  little,  and  we  are  inclined  to  say: 
"  Such  knowledge  is  too  wonderful  for  me ; 
it  is  high,  I  cannot  attain  unto  it."  If  it 
come  but  to  a  humble  thought  such  as  this,  it 
is  an  awakening  and  a  chastening  which  may 
be  salutary.  But  the  truer  discipleship  is  to 
think  the  creative  thoughts  over  again. 

Remember,  however,  that  knowledge  in 
itself  is  nothing  worth;  it  is  the  spirit  that 
quickeneth.  Beware  of  cherishing  mere  life- 
less bones  and  toneless  catalogues. 

'*  These  earthly  godfathers  of  heaven's  lights 

That  give  a  name  to  every  fix£d  star 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights 

Than  those  that  walk  and  wot  not  what  they  are. " 

Or  they  may  not  have.  It  is  the  "  stream 
of  tendency  "  that  gives  life  to  the  dry  bones 
and  voice  to  the  dumb  catalogues,  and  it  is  the 
vitalizing  dip  into  the  refreshing  tide  of  that 
stream  which  one  must  feel. 

And  so,  good-night! 

66  To  all,  co  each,  a  fair  good-night, 

And  pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light." 

237 


XXXIV 

THE   LIGHTS   IN  THE 
VALLEY 

I  SUPPOSE  that  one  might  be  well  con- 
tent, especially  if  he  be  a  denizen  of  the 
city,  with  a  chance  opportunity  to  trace 
the  glittering  light  of  stars  from  the 
zenith  to  the  horizon.  But  at  Underledge 
we  follow  it  still  farther  downward  into  the 
underworld,  and  on  a  moonless  night  it  is 
sometimes  difficult  to  perceive  where  the 
heavenly  lights  end  and  the  earthly  ones 
begin.  Most  of  these  lower  ones  are  fixed 
stars,  yet  indicate  orbs  which  I  assume  are 
inhabited,  whatever  may  be  the  case  with  the 
other  fixed  stars  and  the  planets.  Occa- 
sionally a  meteor  passes  slowly  across  in  front 
of  me,  and  at  length  disappears.  Perhaps 
someone  might  call  it  the  headlight  of  a  trolley 
car,  but  what  know  I?  I  am  told  that  I 
cannot  know  anything  save  through  my  phys- 
ical senses,  and  what  have  my  physical  senses 
to  do  with  anything  far  away  out  there  in 
space?  Is  it  not  in  fact  within  me,  the  thing 
which  I  see? 

I  have  recently  written  about  waves,  of 

238 


LIGHTS  IN  THE  VALLEY 

which  I  know  nothing,  in  a  medium  called 
ether,  of  the  existence  of  which  I  have  no 
proof.  I  wrote  as  if  there  were  but  a  single 
series  of  these  waves,  and  it  seemed  very 
simple,  if  wholly  beyond  actual  comprehension. 
But  suppose  instead  of  one  series  of  light 
waves,  we  try  to  comprehend  an  infinite  num- 
ber of  series,  simultaneous,  meeting  and  cross- 
ing each  other  in  every  conceivable  direction 
from  every  existent  particle  emitting  or  re- 
flecting light?  This  may  contribute  to  the 
luminosity  in  fact,  but  it  does  not  contribute 
to  the  luminosity  in  thought.  And  suppose  we 
add  to  these  the  electric  or  magnetic  waves, 
and  the  waves  of  radiant  heat,  and  the  X-rays 
of  Roentgen,  and  those  that  follow,  all  these 
in  like  manner  acting  at  cross  purposes  in  the 
mysterious  ether?  Have  we  not  by  this  time 
built  up  a  tolerably  composite  problem  with 
which  to  deal? 

I  do  not  suggest  this  because  I  wish  to  com- 
pete with  the  Rev.  Jasper  in  denying  a 
generally  accepted  scientific  hypothesis  in 
favor  of  one  that  has  been  exploded,  or  of  one 
newly  manufactured  by  myself.  I  simply 
wish  to  call  attention  to  the  ease  with  which 
we  are  apt  to  rest  satisfied  with  names — with 
expressions — with  theories,  and  feel  that  we 
are  very  wise.  "That  man?  Oh,  that  is 
John  Smith."  "  Why  do  the  orbs  remain 
poised  in  space,  revolving  around  their  axes 

239 


LIGHTS    IN   THE   VALLEY 

and  around  each  other?  They  are  held  there 
by  the  attraction  of  gravitation:  haven't  you 
learned  that  yet?"  "What  causes  our  per- 
ception of  light?  Waves  of  a  certain  ampli- 
tude and  rapidity,  which,  passing  through 
the  imponderable  ether,  impinge  upon  the 
nerve  of  sight."  Excellent  and  admirable, 
and  doubtless  true  in  a  sense,  but  what 
then? 

Are  we  any  nearer  the  heart  of  things  when 
we  have 'asked  the  questions  and  have  received 
these  answers  ?  Perhaps :  I  would  fain  believe 
that  we  are,  but  if  it  be  so  it  can  only  be 
because  our  minds  are  thereby  stimulated  to 
recognize  interactions  of  force  and  life  which 
are  utterly  beyond  our  comprehension,  and  not 
because  we  know  any  better  who  John  Smith 
is  in  consequence  of  knowing  his  name,  or 
understand  what  causes  the  attraction  of 
gravitation,  or  can  figure  to  ourselves  these 
numberless  conflicting  waves  which  do  not 
conflict,  or  perceive  why  they  should  cause 
vision  or  produce  the  other  marvelous  effects 
of  which  we  are  aware. 

The  man  who  can  be  led  to  a  crass  material- 
ism by  such  considerations  as  these  must  be 
weak  indeed,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  man 
who  is  confirmed  in  his  belief  that  science  is  of 
no  account,  but  that  all  the  riches  of  omni- 
science and  infinity  are  comprised  within  the 
limits  of  his  twopenny-halfpenny,  six-by-nine 

240 


LIGHTS   IN   THE   VALLEY 

traditional  creed,  is  worse  than  an  infidel  and 
much  more  hopeless. 

When  we  come  to  base  all  our  important 
hypotheses  upon  the  universal  diffusion  of  an 
imponderable  ether,  have  we  not  come  danger- 
ously near  the  dividing  line  between  the  con- 
ceptions of  matter  and  of  spirit?  If  the  ether 
is  imponderable  and  universally  diffused,  the 
source  or  medium  of  all  force, — since  it  is  not 
subject  to  the  law  of  gravitation,  it  is  certainly 
not  matter  in  any  ordinary  acceptation  of  that 
term.  It  if  is  not  matter,  is  it  then  spirit? 
Or  is  there  a  third  department,  neither  matter 
nor  spirit,  as  Purgatory  is  claimed  to  be 
neither  Heaven  nor  Hell? 

There  I  go  again,  and  simply  because  a 
trolley  car  passed  across  the  valley,  its  great 
monocle  staring  in  front,  and  blue  flashes 
sparkling  from  time  to  time  on  the  wire. 
But  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for  when  you 
have  harnessed  the  lightning  it  seems  an  ex- 
ceptionally spectacular  performance,  though, 
in  the  last  analysis,  any  one  thing  is  not  more 
strange  than  any  other  thing  excepting  in  the 
sense  that  it  is  less  familiar. 

But  to  come  down  to  plain  everyday  things, 
hills  and  valleys,  and  woods  and  fields,  houses 
and  people,  love  and  hate,  life  and  death, 
things  that  we  are  quite  familiar  with  and 
thoroughly  understand,  you  know!  Here  I 
sit  in  my  lonely  watch  tower,  and  see  one  by; 

241 


LIGHTS   IN  THE   VALLEY 

one  the  lights  appear  that  mark  the  household 
gatherings,  and  I  sometimes  wonder  how 
much  real  life  there  is  beneath  the  show  of 
life  there  manifested.  I  know  a  little,  a  very 
little  about  some  of  these  circles,  and  what  I 
know  leads  me  sometimes  to  hope  that  there 
are  deeps  which  I  have  not  fathomed.  Some 
of  the  houses  from  which  these  lights  gleam, 
have  sheltered  many  generations,  and  looking 
back  over  the  past,  it  is  difficult  to  avoid 
imagining  that  there  must  still  be  more  life  in 
some  of  those  occupants  who  disappeared  long, 
long  ago,  than  now  animates  those  who  supply 
their  places. 

Yonder,  for  instance — do  you  see  that  light 
gleaming  beyond  the  pasture,  and  a  stone's 
throw  down  the  farther  slope?  That  should 
be  the  light  of  the  candle  upon  the  study  table 
of  Dr.  Todd,  the  beloved  physician,  but  alas! 
his  familiar  form  has  been  under  the  daisies  for 
more  than  sixty  years.  Was  that  the  end  of 
all?  I  do  not  know.  But  I  do  know  that, 
lacking  the  ability  to  accept  the  dominant  faith 
then  strenuously  held  and  strongly  urged  by 
most  as  of  supreme  importance,  he  was  yet 
able  to  win  the  hearts  of  all ;  to  be  not  merely 
the  caretaker  of  their  bodies,  but  to  be  bright- 
ness to  those  who  were  in  gloom,  peace  to 
those  who  were  perturbed  in  spirit,  rest  for  the 
weary,  sympathy  for  the  sorrowing,  a  com- 
panion and  a  friend  for  those  whom  loneliness 

242 


LIGHTS   IN   THE  VALLEY 

overcame,  a  helpful  confidant  for  such  as 
needed  a  listening  ear.  His  violin  was  his 
own  chief  solace,  and  he  was  so  full  of  music 
that  he  exhaled  an  atmosphere  of  harmony 
wherever  he  appeared.  Even  one  of  whom  it 
might  truly  be  said 

"  Now  see  that  noble  and  most  sovereign  reason, 
Like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh," 

felt  irresistibly  the  soothing  of  his  presence. 
Where  now  is  that  spirit  which  then  was  so 
rich,  so  full,  and  so  helpful?  Has  it  been 
wasted  ? 


243 


XXXV 
THE  TOWN   FARM 

"  There's  a  light  in  the  window  for  thee,  love — 
There's  a  light  in  the  window  for  thee." 

D3WN  yonder  in  the  valley,  just  be- 
fore you  reach  the  gravelly  slope 
upon  which  grow  the  pines,  a  light 
shines  through  the  long  evenings  to 
which  my  eye  often  turns.  It  represents  the 
kinship  of  the  race,  the  feeling  of  a  common 
humanity,  the  thoughtfulness  of  those  that 
have  for  those  that  have  not,  the  bounty  of 
the  successful,  the  industrious,  the  capable,  or 
the  fortunate,  extended  toward  the  ne'er-do- 
weels,  the  misfits,  those  of  whom  Dame 
Fortune  has  seen  proper  to  make  sport,  and 
upon  whom  she  has  wreaked  her  spite.  For  a 
poor  devil  of  an  author  it  is  a  sort  of  beacon 
light  showing  a  gate  at  the  end  of  the  long 
road  upon  which  there  are  so  many  turnings, 
which  is  sometimes  so  dusty,  and  so  over- 
crowded with  rocks  of  offense  and  ugly 
morasses. 

With  the  ordinary  disposition  to  look  a  gift 
horse  in  the  mouth,  one  regrets  that  this  refuge 

244 


THE   TOWN    FARM 

could  not  have  been  placed  upon  a  hill  so  as 
to  afford  a  glimpse  of  the  world  here  and 
there,  of  the  world  that  is  so  beautiful  to  those 
whose  outward  eyes  are  not  yet  dim,  and 
whose  inward  eyes  are  not  so  overloaded  with 
memories  of  the  past  and  apprehensions  for 
the  future  as  to  be  blind  to  the  heavenly  and 
the  earthly  vision.  But  perhaps  the  pain 
might  be  too  acute,  this  looking  out  upon  the 
busy  and  the  happy  world.  It  requires  a 
pretty  firm  nervous  grip  for  the  unhappy  to 
enjoy  thoroughly  the  happiness  and  success  of 
others.  The  contrast  of  the  rusting  and  the 
moldering  hulk,  half  buried  in  the  sand,  and 
the  graceful  craft  under  snowy  canvas,  bound- 
ing freely  over  the  summer  sea,  is  almost  too 
great.  Perhaps  the  bare  walls  and  the  flat 
plain  are  best. 

I  wonder  whether,  in  that  last  shelter,  one 
is  permitted  the  occupancy  of  a  room  all  by 
himself,  and  allowed  to  keep  it  snug  and  clean 
and  sweet-smelling?  Methinks  the  smell  of 
hopeless  and  helpless  and  nerveless  poverty  is 
the  worst  ill  that  is  to  be  endured,  the  deepest 
depth  to  which  one  can  physically  fall.  Short 
of  that,  there  is  hope.  With  a  sweet  breath 
in  the  nostrils,  one  might  live  forever. 

Yes,  with  but  a  pleasant  odor  left,  one 
might  live  again.  And  really  one's  needs  are 
few:  even  in  the  valley  one  can  see  the  stars, 
and  the  vast  heavenly  spaces,  and  with  the 

245 


THE   TOWN   FARM 

sweet  spirit  of  the  past  in  the  soul,  and  with 
the  awful  and  majestic  infinities  over  one,  the 
dream  of  a  greater  glory  and  a  greater  peace 
might  come  to  enwrap  the  spirit  long  buffeted, 
and  overworn. 


246 


XXXVI 

THE   SENSE    (OR   THE   NON- 
SENSE ?)    OF    COLOR 

FANDY  Saekel  has  been  painting  the 
valley  from  my  slope.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, he  has  not  been  painting  it  red, 
but  rather  purple.  One  of  his 
studies  was  begun  in  front  of  the  fringe  of 
wood  which  in  summer  masks  the  ledge,  but 
at  this  season  reveals  the  dry  bones  of  the  earth 
protruding  at  the  summit;  upon  a  subsequent 
day,  the  weather  not  being  wholly  accom- 
modating, he  started  another  in  my  neighbor's 
field  just  over  the  line  below  my  pasture,  and 
upon  this  he  has  worked  assiduously  during 
several  mornings.  The  choice  of  a  point  of 
view  was  felicitous.  Directly  in  front  falls  a 
swale  with  gently  sloping  sides  upon  which 
stand  ragged  old  apple  trees:  upon  a  swampy 
bit  of  bottom  land  are  tall  brown  weeds  and 
coarse  marsh  grass,  with  two  or  three 
picturesque  elms,  fed  by  the  copious  moisture: 
between  the  branches  appear  ancient  roofs  and 
chimneys  scattered  irregularly;  while  over  the 
tops,  parts  of  the  intervale  show  here  and 
there,  with  the  ranges  of  hills  off  upon  the 

247 


THE   SENSE   OF   COLOR 

horizon,  and  a  suggestion  of  the  gap  through 
which  the  Tunxis  makes  its  way  from '  the 
mountains.  It  is  a  scene  of  ideal  as  well  as 
real  beauty,  and  to  me,  though  under  most 
lights  full  of  color,  the  color  is  ethereal :  now, 
in  the  morning,  soft  salmon  pink  upon  the 
lower  sky,  fading  into  gray-blue  above,  and 
contrasting  gently  with  blues  upon  the.  distant 
mountains,  and  occasional  hints  of  purple; 
tawny  browns  and  yellows  upon  the  fields  and 
slopes,  the  color  of  the  lion's  hide,  as  my  friend 
the  good  physician  says, — blending  softly  into 
the  neutral  green  of  the  distant  pines;  pearly 
blues  and  grays  and  soft  maroons  upon  the 
nearer  trunks  and  scattered  rocks  in  the  sun- 
light, by  which  they  are  projected  clearly 
against  the  golden  and  yellow  browns  of  the 
grass  and  weeds.  The  whole  is  a  symphony 
(that,  I  believe,  is  the  accepted  term,  and  no- 
where in  color  more  appropriately  placed  than 
here)  of  agreeable  discords,  and  quiet  har- 
monies, and  restful  unisons,  such  as  appeal 
most  sympathetically  to  the  craving  for 
pleasurable  repose,  and  inactive  but  most  real 
gufrtebenljett.  One  is  compelled  to  use 
strong  names  to  indicate  the  hues  which  are 
suggested  to  the  mind,  but  the  names  are  sharp 
and  hard  and  crude,  and  for  the  most  part  no 
more  describe  the  softly  flowing  tints  than 
word  pictures  can  suggest  that  mysterious  bias 
of  the  inner  man,  of  which  Coleridge  sings : 

248 


THE   SENSE   OF   COLOR 

"  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 

Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame." 

Fandy  has  a  nice  and  assured  touch,  and  a 
good  sense  of  composition  and  perspective. 
When  I  stood  beside  him  as  he  approached  the 
termination  of  his  task,  he  asked  me  how  I 
liked  his  picture.  In  a  sort  of  way  I  expressed 
my  satisfaction  with  the  features  of  which  I 
have  just  spoken,  but  added,  "  I  cannot  see 
the  colors  as  you  have  them, — of  such  intensity 
and  showing  such  strong  contrasts."  He 
might  have  replied  like  Turner — "  Don't  you 
wish  you  could  ?  "  but  more  courteously  said 
that  if  I  should  see  the  picture  in  the  house, 
I  would  not  think  the  colors  too  bright.  To 
this  I  responded,  "  Perhaps  so,"  but  in  truth 
I  did  not  think  it.  I  had  seen  this  kind  of 
thing  before,  many,  many  times  before.  I  am 
sure  that  in  numerous  cases,  as  in  this,  it  is  an 
honest  effort  after  truth  in  effect :  I  am  equally 
sure  that  in  a  vastly  greater  number  of  cases 
it  is  either  reckless  dissipation  in  color,  or 
merely  the  utilization  for  pecuniary  reward  of 
the  "  fad  "  of  the  period.  At  its  best  it  is  a 
conscientious  struggle  after  the  effect  en  plein 
air,  an  admirable  effort.  But  the  actual  re- 
sults are  sometimes  adapted  to  make  one's 
brain  whirl. 

(Indeed,  if  I  may  be  so  indiscreet,  I  may 

249 


THE    SENSE   OF    COLOR 

reveal  the  fact  that  a  horse  driven  by  David 
Mapelson  positively  refused  to  pass  one  of 
Fandy's  sketches  the  other  day.) 

If  Mr.  Saekel  had  replied  to  me  in  Turner's 
words,  "  Don't  you  wish  you  could  ? J>  I 
should  have  been  compelled  to  answer,  "  No, 
I  do  not.  I  was  brought  up  and  have  been 
nurtured  on  the  sunset  and  the  rainbow;  I 
have  become  attached  to  these  spectacles,  and 
have  grown  old  and  gray  under  them,  and  am 
not  strong  enough  to  surrender  them  now. 
Your  palette  is  almost  spent;  what  have  you 
left  with  which  to  paint  me  these?"  To 
which  I  am  fain  to  believe  that  he  would  have 
been  at  a  loss  what  to  reply. 

And  yet  a  certain  horror  of  apprehension 
seizes  me.  What  if  I  am  afflicted  with  a 
curious  sort  of  color-blindness:  an  affection 
which  permits  me  to  see  the  relation  of  tints 
under  one  set  of  conditions,  and  draws  a  veil 
over  my  eyes  or  produces  an  effect  of  spherical 
or  chromatic  aberration  in  another?  Perhaps 
there  are  no  such  colors  in  the  sunset  and  in 
the  rainbow  as  I  imagine  that  I  see  in  them, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  these  show  only  neutral 
tints  with  which  the  palette  is  competent  to 
deal  with  ease.  Or  perhaps  it  may  be  another 
sort  of  deficiency:  I  remember  that  when  that 
brilliant  scientific  lecturer,  Professor  Tyndall, 
appeared  before  us  at  the  Brooklyn  Academy 
and  showed  the  wonders  of  the  spectrum,  by 

250 


THE   SENSE   OF   COLOR 

interposing  certain  prepared  sheets  he  extended 
the  same  far  into  the  nether  darkness,  and  re- 
vealed a  glow  of  light  in  spaces  to  the  appear- 
ance of  light  in  which  our  imperfect  eyes  were 
not  wonted.  Is  it  that  in  the  evolution  of  the 
race,  the  barrier  of  grossness  and  dullness  of 
sense  has  at  length  been  broken  down,  and 
that  which  was  and  is,  to  us  who  are  passing, 
but  as  a  sealed  book,  has  become  to  the  newer 
generation  an  open  vision? 

Mayhap  this  is  the  secret,  and  if  it  be  so, 
we  can  but  as  faithful  stoic-epicureans  be 
thankful  for  the  pleasures  which  we  have  en- 
joyed, and  hail  with  equanimity  and  a  sym- 
pathetic thrill  the  greater  glories  which  have 
dawned  upon  the  eyes  of  our  successors.  May 
they  live  to  drink  in  as  much  rapture  of  de- 
light in  their  ever  scintillating  prismatic 
world  as  we  have  found  in  the  calmer  and 
quieter  world  which  we  have  been  content  to 
call  our  home. 

But  still  another  idea  arises.  Perhaps  I 
have  been  but  dreaming  all  these  years,  and  I 
am  now  just  feeling  the  restlessness  of  ap- 
proaching consciousness.  "  I  have  had  a 
dream  past  the  wit  of  man  to  say  what  dream 
it  was;  man  is  but  an  ass  if  he  go  about  to 
expound  this  dream,"  as  Bottom  says. 

"  Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the 
dream?"  Where  is  it  now?  In  the  very 
pith  and  marrow  of  the  bones  of  those  of  us 

251 


THE   SENSE   OF   COLOR 

who  have  come,  under  the  glamour  of  her 
before  whose  light  even  painters  must  bow 
the  knee. 

"   .   .   .   We  are  such  stuft 
As  dreams  are  made  on." 

Come  then,  let  me  dream  again,  nor  wake  me 
from  my  vision  of  the  heavenly  beatitudes  of 
this  earthly  world,  until  with  a  reverent  hand 
you  take  the  brush — not  to  improve  upon 
nature — that  you  cannot  do, — not  to  imitate 
nature, — for  this  also  you  cannot  do,  but  to 
spell  out  in  color  and  form  the  song  which  na- 
ture has  written  with  a  pencil  of  light,  as  it 
thrills  along  nerves  tuned  to  her  key,  but 
still  human  nerves  with  their  human  and  per- 
sonal ingredient  to  contribute  to  the  harmony. 


252 


XXXVII 
THE   LATE   JACK   FROST 

NOT  that  Jack  is  dead — far  from  it. 
Indeed,  to-day  he  appears  very 
much  alive.  At  noon  on  Monday 
the  thermometer  registered  55°, 
and  it  rained,  and  it  rained ;  it  was  a  summer 
downpour.  Forty  hours  later  it  registered 
15°,  the  air  was  as  clear  as  a  bell,  and  the 
ground  seemed  like  flint.  The  late  Frost 
made  his  appearance  on  this  occasion,  and  his 
antics  were,  like  the  heathen  Chinee,  peculiar. 
I  have  had  occasion  to  lay  a  walk  about 
two  hundred  yards  long  from  the  cottage  to 
the  highway,  and  I  have  learned  a  thing  or 
two.  Like  that  of  Fernandiwud,  in  the  "  New 
Gospel  of  Peace,"  this  walk  is  slantindicular, 
and  it  is  slightly,  though  not  greatly,  circum- 
ambient. A  part  of  the  ground  being  at  times, 
and  especially  in  the  Spring,  inclined  to  be 
moist,  not  to  say  wet,  with  the  water  descend- 
ing from  the  ledge,  instead  of  depressing  the 
path,  as  is  often  done,  I  have  elevated  it  several 
inches,  using  as  material  a  more  or  less  com- 
pletely disintegrated  rock,  underlaid  (for  a 
portion  of  the  distance  only)  with  small  stones. 

253 


THE*  LATE   JACK   FROST 

I  argued  that  by  this  means  I  should  induce 
the  water  to  run  off,  and  so  leave  me,  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  a  dry  path.  Such,  in- 
deed, was  the  result,  and  so  far,  well.  But 

"  The  best  laid  plans  o'  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  a-gley." 

In  dry  weather,  hot  or  cold,  or  temperate, 
my  path  serves  me  excellently.  In  merely 
rainy  weather  it  does  as  well  as  I  have  any 
right  to  ask,  and  better  than  some  of  the  vil- 
lage sidewalks.  But  again, 

"  They  reckon  ill  who  leave  me  out," 

and  in  this  case  the  "  me "  is,  as  I  suppose, 
capillary  attraction.  I  didn't  know  much 
about  capillary  attraction — who  does?  I 
have  discovered  to  my  discomfort,  (occasional 
only,  I  hope,  not  frequent),  that,  while  the 
waters  from  above  are  not  much  of  a  nuisance, 
the  waters  from  beneath — the  waters  under 
the  earth — are  very  much  so. 

I  remember  that  they  used  to  say  that  water 
seeks  its  own  level ;  it  appears  that  it  also  seeks 
the  level  of  somebody  else.  Who  but  a  wise 
man — and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  most  of  us 
dare  not  aspire  to  be  included  in  that  category 
— who  but  a  wise  man  would  have  anticipated 
that  when  the  ground  beneath  became  soaked, 
instead  of  the  water  from  the  path  descending 

254 


THE   LATE   JACK   FROST 

to  mingle  its  tide  with  the  main  body,  the 
waters  from  below  would  bob  up  serenely 
through  each  several  pore  and  produce  upon 
the  surface  a  beautiful  brown  substance  of 
exactly  the  proper  consistence  for  the  making 
of  a  mud  pudding,  or  to  relieve  you  of  your 
loose  overshoes?  Especially  when  the  afore- 
said John  has  been  around  during  the  night 
playing  his  pranks  and  is  followed  curiously 
by  the  sun  spying  out  all  his  devices.  Then 
until  the  scamp  has  been  completely  driven  off 
the  field,  your  best  course  will  be — I  am  sorry 
to  say  it,  for  it  seems  inhospitable — to  step 
off  upon  the  grass  on  one  side,  and  treat  the 
path  as  some  drawing-room  chairs  seem  to  be 
constructed  to  be  treated,  or  as  the  backwoods- 
man endeavored  to  treat  the  cuspidor — "  avoid 
it  altogether.*  I  fear  that  this  famous  path 
will  not  be  satisfactory  at  all  times  until  I 
provide  a  different  surface. 

But  this  morning  the  condition  above  de- 
scribed did  not  exist;  and  just  for  the  reason 
that  the  late  John  had  put  in  his  fine  work 
with  such  skill,  and  held  to  it  so  tenaciously, 
that  even  the  all-conquering  sun  was  com- 
pelled to  make  a  pause.  And  his  work  was 
done  in  a  way  that  greatly  interested  me. 

Upon  the  loose  sloping  sides,  and  also  upon 
the  upper  portion  of  the  path,  excepting  upon 
the  middle,  which  has  been  made  rather  firm 
by  many  footfalls,  are  ranked  pillars  of  ice,  in 

255 


THE   LATE   JACK   FROST 

most  cases  standing  quite  close  together  and 
being  two  or  three  inches  in  height  and  from 
an  eighth  to  a  quarter  or  a  third  of  an  inch  in 
thickness,  but  made  up  of  threadlike  crystals. 
Often  quite  straight  and  parallel,  like  basaltic 
columns,  they  are  perhaps  as  frequently  some- 
what curved,  and  occasionally  they  are  quite 
bent  over  and  wound  into  volutes  or  spirals. 
Many  of  them  are  grimy  with  sand  and  earth ; 
others  carry  only  a  cap  of  earth  upon  their 
heads,  while  most  seem  clear  and  crystalline. 
Lying  sometimes  across  the  tops  of  several  of 
these  are  small  plants  of  buttercup  or  sorrel  or 
tufts  of  grass,  which  have  been  ejected  root 
and  branch  and  cast  upon  the  cold  charity  of 
a  most  uncompromising  world.  This  is  one 
of  the  forms  of  suffering  which  bear  most  hard 
upon  vegetation  during  a  snowless  season. 
Last  year  our  hillsides  were  not  free  from 
snow  after  the  fifth  of  November,  this  year  the 
snow  came  a  month  later,  and,  although  it 
persists,  it  does  so  apologetically,  and  conceals 
itself  in  hollows  and  shady  places  as  much  as 
it  may. 

Falling  back  upon  that  mysterious  power 
or  effect  which  is  called  capillary  attraction, 
on  account  of  which  liquids  are  given  to  as- 
cending skyward  in  slender  tubes,  I  suppose 
that  the  water  in  the  earth  mounts  steadily  in 
the  same  direction  through  the  fine  pores  in 
the  material;  that  in  warm  or  moderate,  dry 

256 


THE   LATE   JACK   FROST 

or  windy  weather  ft  is  immediately  evaporated 
and  borne  away,  but  in  cold  weather  it  is 
frozen  on  reaching  the  surface,  and  so  remains 
to  be  lifted  into  the  air  and  held  in  support  by 
the  rising  tide.  This  may  be  quite  unscientific, 
but  "  that's  the  way  it  looks."  I  noticed  the 
same  condition  upon  the  sides  of  my  trenches 
wherever  the  ground  was  wet,  the  whole 
being  covered  with  serried  files  of  icy  guard- 
ians. 

In  a  small  open  ditch  upon  the  lowland 
another  curious  effect  struck  me,  due  to  the 
frost,  but  merely  an  accidental  incident. 
There  is  considerable  fall  in  the  ditch,  and  the 
bottom  is  slightly  irregular  and  uneven.  A 
roof  of  ice  has  formed  over  it  just  above  the 
present  surface  of  the  running  water,  but  so 
close  that  the  water  from  time  to  time  reaches 
this  roof.  Where  the  air  is  interposed,  the 
tone  is  of  the  usual  white  or  gray  resulting 
from  this  fact,  but  where  the  water  touches 
the  ice  the  gray  effect  disappears,  giving  place 
to  the  familiar  leaden  tone  of  clear  ice  resting 
upon  water.  In  consequence  we  have  creep- 
ing and  writhing  down  the  ditch  a  succession 
of  constantly  changing  forms  like  pollywogs, 
or  the  formless  Proteus,  Amoeba  diffluens. 
The  effect  is  extremely  odd.  We  think  of  the 
passage  as  a  great  throat,  and  remember 
Thackeray — was  it? — in  his  first  experience 
with  an  American  oyster,  when  he  felt  as  if 

257 


THE   LATE   JACK   FROST 

he  had  swallowed  a  baby,  or  the  man  who  was 
so  delighted  with  his  tipple  that  he  wished  his 
oesophagus  were  a  mile  long. 

The  windows  have  only  begun  to  show 
those  forests  of  arctic  vegetation  which  follow 
in  form — away  off,  and,  as  it  were,  in  the 
cerements  of  the  grave — the  luxuriant  growths 
of  the  torrid  zone.  Is  it  not  singular,  this 
imitation  in  colorless  crystal  of  the  forms  of 
tropic  vegetation,  which  in  their  own  home 
suggest  all  that  is  of  heat  and  passion — 
ravenous  beasts  and  venomous  serpents  full  of 
malignancy ;  and  heavy,  hot,  malarious  vapors, 
and  leaden-eyed  repose!  Here,  every  vestige 
of  their  fire  gone,  they  yet  sparkle  and  glitter 
on  our  window  panes,  the  pure  abstraction  of 
that  which  was  so  full  of  life  and  glow,  and 
all  about  them  are  the  counterfeit  present- 
ments of  the  stars  themselves,  in  like  ethereal 
character  and  alike  ephemeral.  For  let  but 
a  ray  of  the  sun  touch  them — at  the  mere  sug- 
gestion of  the  warmth  which  is  the  life  of  their 
prototypes,  they  fly  away  into  the  unfathom- 
able abyss  that  engulfs  the  things  that  were. 

One  perfect  loveliness  of  the  valley  rarely 
comes  to  me  upon  the  hill.  The  fog  does 
not  often  rise  to  the  cottage,  and  the  vapors 
which  float  from  the  steaming  river  upon  the 
coming  of  sudden  cold  never  reach  me.  Con- 
sequently it  is  the  rare  exception  when  the 
weeds  and  shrubs  and  trees  upon  the  hillside 

258 


THE   LATE   JACK   FROST 

adorn  themselves  with  that  transcendent  jew- 
elry with  which  they  are  frequently  clothed 
in  the  valley.  I  must  get  down  among  the 
folk  who  inhabit  the  lowlands,  and  past  them 
to  the  bank  of  the  river  itself,  to  see  this  dis- 
play at  its  best.  But  one  to  whom  the  spec- 
tacle is  familiar  knows  full  well  that  the  walk, 
a  delight  in  itself,  is  a  small  price  to  pay  for 
so  wonderful  a  show,  and  those  who  have 
never  seen  it  might  put  a  girdle  round  the 
earth  and  embrace  nothing  more  beautiful  of 
its  kind. 

As  the  currents  of  vapor-laden  air  strike 
the  blades  of  grass,  the  graceful  brown  or  gray 
spikes  of  the  goldenrod  or  of  the  aster  or  wild 
carrot,  the  wires  of  the  fence,  the  tufts  of 
hanging  horsehair,  the  twigs  and  branches  of 
the  shrubs  and  trees,  from  every  point  spring 
fairy  fernlike  forms,  the  veriest  thistledown  in 
crystal;  and  when  the  morning  breaks  the 
world  is  sheathed  in  silver  plumes,  the  like  of 
which  no  mortal  hand  could  fashion.  A 
breath  of  wind,  a  touch  upon  the  tree  trunk, 
and  all  the  air  is  filled  with  flashing  gems. 
And  this  is  Jack  Frost's  jewelry  for  festal 
days. 


259 


XXXVIII 

UN    MAUVAIS   QUART 
D'HEURE 

MY  muscles  are  quite  unused  to  such 
continued  violent  exercise,  but  if 
I  find  them  steady  enough  I  must 
record    my    very    latest    exciting 
experience  while  it  is  still  fresh.     But  first  let 
me  take  another  observation  and  assure  myself 
that  all  is  as  it  should  be.     Yes,  the  field  is 
secure,  and  now  to  my  story. 

Since  the  coming  of  the  Autumn  I  have  been 
much  annoyed  by  the  seed-vessels  of  theBidens, 
Sticktight  or  Beggar  ticks  or  Bur  Marigold, 
which  has  effected  a  lodgment,  and  a  very 
secure  one,  in  the  swamp,  and  especially  upon 
the  northwest  margin  of  the  lower  pool  and 
between  that  and  the  fence.  During  the  sum- 
mer, being  busy  with  other  matters,  I  paid  no 
attention  to  it,  merely  noticing  a  bright  yellow 
glow  along  the  margin,  and  not  taking  ac- 
count of  its  cause.  But  since  age  has  dimmed 
and  quenched  the  color,  and  brought  ripeness 
to  the  plants,  I  have  had  frequent  occasion  to 
pass  that  way,  and  each  time  have  been  the 
victim  of  a  most  exasperating  felonious  attack, 

260 


MAUVAIS  QUART  D'HEURE 

The  little  triangles  of  the  Desmodium  are  bad 
enough,  but  when  the  Sticktight  or  the  Spanish 
needle  takes  hold  of  you,  you  are  lost.  You 
step  incautiously  into  a  group  of  the  innocent- 
looking  dry  plants  and  out  again,  and  upon 
your  trousers  and  your  coat,  and  whatsoever 
other  woolen  garments  it  has  been  your  evil 
fortune  to  wear  upon  your  exterior  on  that 
auspicious  occasion  appear  in  serried  ranks  the 
preposterous  seed-vessels,  vowing  that  you 
shall  do  their  behest,  and  spread  them  abroad 
that  they  may  find  "  fresh  woods  and  pastures 
new."  And  then,  when  you  have  sought  a 
place  of  safety,  and  patiently  (of  course)  and 
with  as  little  use  of  "  language  "  as  comports 
with  the  occasion,  picked  off  each  individual 
little  wretch,  and  thrown  it  upon  the  ground 
to  germinate  next  season,  in  all  probability, 
upon  making  your  next  motion  you  again  put 
your  foot  into  it. 

Such  has  been  my  fate  many  times  during 
the  installation  of  the  water  works,  and  at 
length  I  vowed  that  I  would  be  saved  by  fire 
if  in  no  other  way.  But,  try  as  I  might,  the 
—  things  (with  an  adjective)  would  not  burn. 
Over  and  over  again  I  started  the  fire  among 
the  dead  leaves  and  the  grass  stems  and  blades, 
and  after  a  little  deceptive  burst,  and  a  little 
flickering,  it  would  ignominiously  expire. 

To-day,  hoping  that  a  short  dry  spell  had 
made  the  material  more  combustible,  I  deter- 

261 


MAUVAIS  QUART  D'HEURE 

mined  to  try  it  again.  The  wind  was  rather 
fresh,  and  to  avoid  risk  I  started  my  blaze 
upon  the  leeward  side  of  the  group  of  worst 
offenders,  next  the  small  sheet  of  ice.  Again 
and  again — I  suppose  nearly  a  dozen  times — 
I  set  a  burning  match  to  the  material.  Once 
the  fire  spread  over  a  space  of  eight  or  ten  feet 
and  then  expired;  in  other  cases  the  area 
burned  over  was  very  trifling. 

Annoyed  by  my  ill  success,  I  crossed  over 
toward  the  fence,  and  again  touched  a  match 
to  a  dry  clump,  hoping  that  the  draft  would 
carry  the  flame  into  the  mass,  and  create  such 
a  body  of  heat  as  would  bear  it  across  to  the 
border  of  the  pool.  Still  another  failure. 

I  tried  it  once  more  in  the  same  quarter:  it 
was  once  too  often.  It  will  not  do  to  torment 
the  djinn  overmuch.  In  a  moment  I  had  a 
nice  blaze.  A  moment  after  I  had  a  fine 
blaze.  And  I  had  hardly  realized  this  fact 
when  I  comprehended  that  I  had  an  ardent 
blaze,  that  it  was  not  traveling  just  in  the 
direction  which  I  desired,  and  that  the  wind 
was  high. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  pool  there  was  a 
narrow  brake  of  wild  roses,  with  a  margin  of 
grass  and  weeds  between  it  and  the  water,  or 
rather  ice,  and  on  the  other  side  of  it  a  fringe 
of  the  same  kind  between  it  and  a  small  plot 
covered  with  dry  corn  stalks.  It  was  toward 
this  brake  that  the  flame  sprang,  and  upon  it 

262 


MAUVAIS  QUART  D'HEURE 

that  it  divided,  going  past  the  pool,  upon  the 
north  side.  The  flame  was  flung  into  the  air, 
hot  and  high.  I  was  startled,  and  sprang  for 
a  stick  with  which  I  had  intended  to  direct  it, 
and  by  beating  tried  to  stay  it  upon  the  side 
next  the  corn,  but  in  vain;  the  flame  jumped 
past  me,  a  yard  at  a  time.  Fortunately  the 
dry  corn  did  not  come  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
swamp ;  on  this  side  the  fire  was  making  up  the 
swale  diagonally  toward  my  neighbor's  fence. 
I  had  seen  this  sort  of  thing  before,  and  my 
heart  began  to  beat  rather  vigorously  as  I  took 
a  glance  at  the  situation. 

The  field  for  immediate  operations  was  not 
large,  and  the  time  of  special  anxiety — for  me 
— was  not  likely  to  continue  long.  Sheets  of 
hot  flame  shot  into  the  air,  and  the  wind 
seemed  to  increase.  On  the  side  upon  which  I 
stood  the  amount  of  dry  annual  growth  was 
not  considerable.  Next  came  the  rose  brake, 
gradually  giving  way,  further  up  the  swale, 
to  a  line  of  spice  bushes  and  other  shrubs,  and 
beyond  was  the  small  swamp  proper,  full  of 
tall  dried  weeds  and  grass,  into  which  the  fire 
was  rapidly  eating  its  way.  Beyond  that  rose 
the  grass-covered  slope  with  the  ghosts  of 
goldenrod  and  asters  and  iron  weed,  stretch- 
ing up  to  the  wood  which  masks  the  ledge, 
and  diagonally  nearly  to  the  cottage,  which 
was  not  so  far  away  as  the  wood,  a  bare  hun- 
dred yards  or  less  from  the  foot  of  the  slope. 

263 


MAUVAIS  QUART  D'HEURE 

I  do  not  know  how  it  may  be  with  others, 
but  I  am  free  to  confess  that  when  I  come  into 
conflict  with  the  elements  thus,  I  do  not  feel 
myself  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude.  I  can 
hardly  imagine  a  crevice  so  small  that  I  could 
not  slip  into  it.  Whether  the  hole  were  round 
or  square,  I  fear  that  this  peg  would  rattle. 

Among  the  high  weeds  of  the  marsh  it  was 
clear  that  I  could  do  nothing:  the  fight,  for 
what  it  might  be  worth,  must  be  made  near 
the  foot  of  the  slope,  where  the  grass  was  thin 
and  short.  Making  a  detour  and  crossing  to 
the  other  side,  where  I  cut  a  bushy  savin  to 
serve  for  a  besom — I  hoped  of  salvation,  not  of 
destruction — I  waited  for  a  moment  and 
watched.  But  the  vision  of  the  spreading 
flame  and  the  thought  of  the  cottage,  of  the 
wood,  of  the  country  beyond  the  ledge,  was 
too  much,  and  I  sprang  forward  to  contest  the 
field  at  a  point  where  there  seemed  a  possi- 
bility, at  least,  of  using  the  "  flying  wedge  "  to 
effect,  and  breaking  the  line  of  the  advancing 
foe  in  the  middle.  But  it  was  a  useless  effort. 
The  smoke  filled  my  eyes,  and  my  threshing 
among  the  high  weeds  seemed  but  to  add  fury 
to  the  flames. 

I  retreated  to  the  foot  of  the  hillside.  I 
had  hitherto  been  alone :  now,  as  I  glanced  up, 
I  saw  a  gaunt  laborer  from  the  neighboring 
farm  looking  down  doubtfully  upon  the  scene 
from  the  farther  bank.  I  shouted  to  him  that 

264 


MAUVAIS  QUART  D'HEURE 

the  fire  had  escaped  from  my  control,  and 
asked  him  to  look  out  for  the  line  that  was 
threatening  the  fence  and  the  adjoining  prop- 
erty up  the  swale,  while  I  watched  the  ad- 
vance upon  the  hillside. 

I  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  In  another 
moment  the  vanguard  of  the  fiery  host  had 
reached  the  edge  of  the  slope  and  begun  to 
run  among  the  short  grass.  Here  was  my 
chance,  if  I  had  one.  I  laid  about  me  with 
my  savin  with  a  right  good  will,  but  at  first 
apparently  with  no  effect.  The  wind 
freshened,  the  smoke  was  driven  in  my  face, 
the  flames  were  spreading  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left.  I  looked  at  the  cottage,  and  at 
the  wood  along  the  ledge,  my  beautiful 
"  Hanger."  The  fire  was  hot,  but  it  were  as 
though  cold  chills  ran  along  my  spine  as  I 
realized  how  short  the  distance  was  'twixt  me 
and  them,  and  how  fast  the  flames  were  spread- 
ing. "  I  need  you  over  here,"  I  shouted ; 
"  weVe  got  to  fight  for  the  house  and  wood." 
The  rustic  was  not  naturally  over-quick  in 
his  motions,  but  soon  I  found  him  on  the  line 
of  approach  to  the  cottage,  also  savin  in  hand, 
and  laying  about  him  with  more  skill  than  I, 
for  he  had  had  more  experience  in  this  kind 
of  work. 

As  the  edge  of  the  fire  spread  up  the  hill- 
side, though  its  progress  was  rapid  it  found 
comparatively  little  material,  and  the  body  of 

265 


MAUVAIS  QUART  D'HEURE 

flame  and  smoke  was  greatly  reduced.  This 
was  much  in  our  favor,  and  before  long  gaps 
appeared  in  the  advancing  line.  It  was  none 
too  soon.  A  little  higher  up  the  combustible 
material  was  much  more  considerable. 
Cheered  by  this  success  we  redoubled  our 
efforts,  and  it  soon  became  evident  that  we 
were  mastering  the  situation  in  this  quarter. 
Occasionally  a  tongue  of  flame  would  spring 
up  upon  ground  over  which  we  had  passed, 
but  a  swish  of  the  red  cedar  brought  it 
quickly  to  naught.  Though  the  time  seemed 
long,  I  suppose  really  it  was  but  a  few  mo- 
ments after  the  attack  began  at  this  point  be- 
fore we  could  feel  assured  that  we  had  been 
wholly  successful. 

We  now  turned  our  attention  to  the  north 
branch.  The  fire  had  there  been  advancing 
slowly  among  the  bushes,  not  having  sufficient 
volume  to  attack  these  successfully,  and  only 
feeding  upon  the  clusters  of  weeds  among 
them.  Now  and  then  it  would  find  a  rich 
mouthful,  and  it  was  making  a  brilliant  show 
in  swallowing  one  of  these,  and  a  mighty 
crackling,  when  I  attacked  it;  but  I  retired 
from  the  conflict,  alas!  not  victor  but  van- 
quished. 

However,  this  morsel  digested,  the  devour- 
ing element  found  less  food  to  batten  upon, 
and  as  it  spread  here  and  there  I  fought  it  in 
detail,  and  to  my  immense  relief  it  was  not 

266 


MAUVAIS  QUART  D'HEURE 

long  before  the  last  curling  tongue  of  flame 
was  extinguished. 

The  whole  affair  continued,  I  suppose,  but 
little  more  than  half  an  hour,  and  probably 
not  more  than  an  acre  of  ground  was  covered, 
but  my  blood  was  coursing  freely  while  it 
lasted,  and  I  was  richer  in  experience  when 
it  was  over. 

And  it  was  only  since  I  have  been  writing 
that  I  perceived  an  unusual  fragrance  of 
singed  hair,  and  detected  an  unfamiliar  crinkle 
in  the  end  of  my  mustache. 

I  may  remark  that  most  of  the  weeds 
which  I  sought  to  destroy  are  still  standing. 


267 


XXXIX 

MADEMOISELLE    PREFERS 
ET 

MADEMOISELLE   JEANNE 

(With  humble  apologies  to  Anatole  France.) 

The    following   brief   correspondence   will 
explain  itself: 

Nov.  20,  1895. 
A  Mademoiselle 

Mademoiselle  Prefere 
Will  ze  ladies  do  ze  scribe  ze  grate  plezaire 
for  to  eat  une  volaille  chez  lui,  on  ze  di- 
manche  ? 

M ,  he  say  he  find  yet  one  ver'  long  leg 

hen-roostair  in  ze  pen. 

Votre  tres  humble  serviteur 

S.  B. 

Most  Honored  Monsieur 

Member  of  the  Institute 
It  was  necessary  for  me  to  consult  the 
tableau  d'honneur  before  I  could  accept  your 
esteemed  invitation,  for  my  young  pupil  or 
myself.  Everything  in  my  establishment  is 
carried  on  with  the  most  sensitive  regard  to 

268 


VIRGINIE   ET   JEANNE 

justice  and  fidelity.  What  was  my  joy,  how- 
ever, to  find  her  name  enrolled  high  upon  the 
list! 

We  shall  both  attend  your  little  dinner  on 
the  coming  Sunday  with  satisfaction,  with 
pleasure  I  may  say, — indeed  with  more  pleas- 
ure than  it  would  be  becoming  for  me  to  ex- 
press. 

Yours,  my  dear  sir 

Altogether  devotedly 

Virginie  P  re  fere. 
November  twenty-second. 

And  so  they  came,  Mademoiselle  Prefere 
probably  in  blue  as  was  her  wont,  with  her 
pelerine  very  much  in  evidence,  and  Jeanne 
"  wrapped  up  in  her  cloak,  with  her  hat  tilted 
back  on  her  head,  and  her  feather  fluttering  in 
the  wind,  like  a  schooner  in  full  rig!  "  And 
the  dinner  passed  off  beautifully,  old  Therese 
doing  her  part  with  her  usual  fidelity,  whether 
she  liked  it  or  not.  The  chicken  was  done  to 
a  turn,  and  was  as  tender  as  a  thought,  not- 
withstanding the  faint  praise  with  which  it 
had  been  heralded,  and  the  vegetables — well 
they  were  grown  at  Underledge,  which  should 
be  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  their  excellence. 
The  Brown  Betty  was  as  good  as  ever  ap- 
peared on  the  Quais  Malaquais,  and  the  wine 
of  the  country  which  accompanied  it  did  no 
despite  to  the  .grapes  from  which  it  was 

269 


VIRGINIE    ET   JEANNE 

pressed.  If  Jeanne  was  disappointed  at  the 
absence  of  jelly,  let  us  draw  the  veil  of  a 
modest  reserve  over  that  maidenly  weakness. 

And  then,  when  we  had  at  length  adjourned 
to  the  City  of  Books,  Mademoiselle  Virginie 
ensconced  herself  in  her  usual  corner  with  a 
tender  sigh  of  comfort  which  expressed  addi- 
tional volumes,  and  I  must  say  that  she  con- 
ducted herself  thereafter  with  such  discretion 
and  self-control,  as  to  cause  me  much  to 
marvel,  and  to  feel  assured  that  some  great 
revolution  must  have  occurred  in  the  Rue 
Demours.  Even  Jeanne  was  affected,  inso- 
much that,  laughable  as  it  seems  now  that  the 
day  is  over,  and  the  library  is  tenanted  only 
by  Hannibal  and  myself,  she  cuddled  herself 
down  upon  the  floor  in  front  of  the  open  fire 
and  laid  her  silly  little  head  upon  the 
madame's  knee,  while  Hannibal  himself,  alias 
Kittiwink,  was  beguilded  into  some  faint  dem- 
onstration of  confidence,  a  circumstance  to 
which  I  should  now  hesitate  to  allude  near  the 
feline  ear. 

And  I — there  is  no  fool  like  an  old  fool, — 
I,  yielding  at  length  to  the  urgent  solicitations 
of  Mademoiselle,  after  an  appropriate  show  of 
reluctance  carried  not  too  far,  consented  to 
read  passages  from  my  monograph  recently 
crowned  by  the  Institute,  on  the  "  Poems 
inedite  attributed  to  the  late  Captain  Kidd, 
with  critical  suggestions  exoteric  and  esoteric." 

270 


VIRGINIE   ET   JEANNE 

When  she  found  that  she  had  persuaded  me, 
she  beamed  all  over  like  a  snowdrift  under 
the  moonlight;  and  so,  letting  her  fancy-work 
fall  into  her  lap  and  settling  back  in  her  easy- 
chair  with  her  hands  clasped  fondly  over  her 
pelerine,  and  her  eyes  ecstatically  fixed  upon 
the  gray  plaster  above  her,  she  drank  in  the 
words  of  wisdom  which  flowed  from  my  lips. 

"  You  will  observe,"  I  read,  "  with  what  a 
delicate  intuition  this  bold  mariner, 

"   .   .   .   the  mildest  manner'd  man 
That  ever  scuttled  ship  or  cut  a  throat ' 

enters  into  the  inmost  feeling  of  each  of  his 
captives  as  they  walk  the  plank.  To  begin 
with,  the  scene  is  pictured  most  graphically, 
and  with  the  pencil  of  a  finished  artist.  The 
two  vessels  lie  side  by  side,  gently  swaying, 
and  gravely  courtesying  to  each  other  in  the 
undulating  roll  of  the  summer  sea;  the  great 
sun  nears  the  western  horizon,  surrounding 
itself  with  a  gauze  of  golden  haze  as  it  slowly 
sinks  to  rest,  tarrying  as  it  were,  that  it  may 
bestow  a  parting  benediction  upon  the  impos- 
ing ceremony:  over  the  side  of  the  captured 
craft  extends  the  narrow  bridge,  securely 
fastened,  that  it  may  not  embarrass  the  steps 
of  the  advancing  company,  but  softly  falling 
and  rising  with  the  rolling  of  the  ship  as 
though  pointing  for  each,  first  to  the  path,  then 
to  the  goal.  All  these  things  are  indicated 

271 


VIRGINIE    ET   JEANNE 

to  the  mind  and  almost  to  the  eye  of  the  reader 
by  a  line  here  and  a  line  there,  placed  so  un- 
erringly that  the  consummate  art  appears  in 
the  very  fact  of  its  utter  disappearance. 

"  And  then  one  by  one,  each  in  his  turn,  the 
neophytes  advance,  and  as  they  do  so  the  poet 
accompanies  each,  and  becomes  the  sympathetic 
mouthpiece  of  his  inmost  thought.  I  cannot 
conceive  of  a  closer  appreciation  of  a  varied 
individual  feeling  than  is  here  shown,  and  it 
irks  me  to  think  that  at  times  there  may  have 
been  those  that  did  not  wholly  realize  the 
noble  manner  in  which  they  and  their  musings 
would  be  immortalized." 

I  went  on  to  give  some  special  instances  of 
the  nature  described,  reading  poems  in  il- 
lustration of  my  theme.  Then  incidentally  I 
added : 

"It  gives  me  pleasure  to  restore  to  the 
canon  and  to  its  proper  place  a  gem  which 
found  its  way  into  print  many  years  ago  and 
since  that  time  has  floated  around  without  an 
owner.  My  readers  are  certainly  all  familiar 
with  it;  it  is  one  of  the  poems  which  now 
belong  to  the  world  at  large: 

"  '  Fee,  faw,  fob,  fum, 

I  smell  the  blood  of  an  Englishman; 
Dead  or  alive  I  will  have  some.' 

In  a  happy  moment  of  inspiration  its  author- 
ship came  to  me,  and  now  that  it  is  restored  to 

272 


VIRGINIE    ET   JEANNE 

its  proper  place,  and  carefully  examined  arid 
compared  with  those  which  accompany  it,  the 
internal  evidence  will,  I  am  sure,  be  sufficient 
to  convince  every  intelligent  critic  of  the  jus- 
tice of  my  attribution  of  it  to  our  gifted 
author.  And  as  Frenchmen  we  should  take 
pride  in  noting  a  certain  Gallic  color  in  the 
underlying  idea,  and  in  the  expansive  force 
of  its  expression.  In  fact,  this  leads  me  to 
suggest  the  theory  of  a  possible  intermixture 
of  the  blood  of  la  patrie,  la  belle  France,  in  the 
veins  of  the  insouciant  poet  at  some  remote 
epoch.  Indeed  his  name  suggests  this.  It 
seems  evident  that  the  second  '  d '  in  the 
name  as  we  now  have  it,  is  an  instance  of  the 
common  practice  of  doubling  the  final  con- 
sonant. The  remaining  *  d  '  was  probably 
a  palatal  softening  of  the  original  '  t.'  We 
thus  reach  'Kit/  which  was  probably  the 
form  which  the  name  first  took  in  England, 
being  a  haphazard  translation  of  the  French 
form,  Chaton.  Unquestionably  the  proper 
name  of  our  poet's  family  was  Chaton,  and  it 
came  from  the  town  of  Tarascon. 

"  Monsieur  Chaton,  with  a  modesty  famil- 
iar in  all  great  writers,  permitted  few  of  his 
poems  to  see  the  light,  and  it  is  only  by  the 
merest  chance,  following  upon  the  most  care- 
ful research,  that  I  have  been  able  to  rescue 
from  oblivion  the  priceless  treasure  which  I 
now  place  before  you.  One  poem,  however, 

273 


VIRGINIE    ET   JEANNE 

in  spite  of  all  his  care  became  generally  known 
many  years  ago.  The  principle  is  sound  that 
'  Love  will  find  a  way/  and  '  Murder  will 
out/  and  the  best  things  refuse  to  be  forever 
'  cabined,  cribbed,  confined/  In  it  there  ap- 
pears conclusive  evidence  of  his  commanding 
philosophic  perception,  and  poetic  insight. 
Who  can  fail  to  see  in  the  simple  phrase 

'* '  My  name  was  Captain  Kidd 
When  I  sailed  ! ' 

the  luminous  thought  of  the  poetic  idealist? 

"  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  English 
William,  in  the  assumed  catholicity  of  his 
much-quoted 

.   .  "  «  That  which  we  call  a  rose 

By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet,' 

was  in  fact  controlled  by  a  curious  insular 
prejudice.  But,  while  saying  this,  candor 
compels  me  to  add  that  I  am  satisfied  that 
William  was  not  wholly  devoid  of  poetic  feel- 
ing. If  he  could  not  aspire  to  genius,  I  think 
that  we  must  nevertheless  concede  to  him  a 
certain  degree  of  talent.  It  is  true  that  he 
was  a  most  daring  plagiarist — that  he  habit- 
ually took  things  wherever  he  found  them, 
but  in  this  he  anticipated  to  some  extent  even 
my  own  hero,  and  so  gave  the  strongest  evi- 
dence of  elevation  above  the  common  herd. 
And  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  manner  in 

274 


VIRGINIE   ET   JEANNE 

which  he  concealed  these  appropriations,  by 
glosses  and  otherwise,  was  skillful  to  a  degree. 
In  the  passage  under  consideration  he  betrays 
his  native  narrowness.  In  that  which  I  have 
cited  from  the  later  poet,  on  the  contrary,  we 
find  a  breadth  of  view  which  is  in  keeping  with 
the  magnificence  of  the  vasty  deep,  and  the 
grand  sweep  of  the  mighty  winds  with  which 
the  poet  was  familiar.  With  a  vision  which 
we  cannot  estimate  at  too  high  a  value,  he 
perceived  that  not  only  were  certain  names 
appropriate  to  certain  individuals,  but  that 
they  must  be  in  harmony  with  certain  times, 
places,  and  occurrences,  and  so  he  nobly  says: 

"  '  My  name  was  Captain  Kidd 

When  I  sailed  !  '  " 

My  enthusiasm  rose  as  I  progressed  in  my 
reading,  and  I  ended  with  a  triumphant  peal 
under  which  the  sensitive  Virginie  quivered. 
This  irrepressible  movement  and  tribute  to  my 
irresistible  eloquence  dislodged  a  spool  of  silk, 
which  fell  to  the  floor,  followed  by  Kittiwink, 
who  pounced  upon  it  and  turned  a  double 
somerset  on  the  rug.  This  in  turn  awakened 
Jeanne,  who  doubtless  had  imagined  that  un- 
conscious cerebration  was  the  only  appropriate 
and  effective  method  of  considering  lucubra- 
tions which  had  been  crowned  by  the  Acad- 
emy, and  she  immediately  began  to  dig  at  her 
eyes  with  both  fists,  awakening  the  decided 

275 


VIRGINIE   ET   JEANNE 

disapproval  of  the  correct  Mademoiselle  Pre- 
fere. 

"My  child,"  said  she,  "how  shocking! 
You  should  not  do  so:  what  will  the  eminent 
Monsieur  Sylvestre  think  of  such  a  gesture?  " 

I  protested  that  I  was  incapable  of  thought, 
and  I  imagined  that  at  the  same  moment  I 
perceived  just  a  faint  twitching  of  that  eye 
of  Jeanne  which  was  farther  removed  from 
her  preceptress.  But  just  then  the  clock 
struck,  and  sounded  the  hour  for  a  return  to 
the  Rue  Demours. 


276 


XL 

THE   PASSING  OF  THE 
PUMP 

IN  an  exceedingly  interesting  monograph 
upon  "  The  Physical  Geography  of 
Southern  New  England,"  Professor 
William  Morris  Davis  of  Harvard 
sketches  the  probable  order  of  the  later  events 
through  which  this  valley  and  these  hills  have 
obtained  their  present  form.  He  shows  how 
the  contour  of  the  surface  and  other  indica- 
tions point  to  the  existence  all  over  this  region 
at  no  distant  time  in  the  past,  say  within  a 
few  hundred  thousand  years,  of  a  great  table- 
land, surmounted  here  and  there  by  scattered 
peaks,  which  table-land  had  been  formed  in 
earlier  times  by  denudation — the  wearing 
down  of  considerable  eminences,  and  the  filling 
up  of  deep  valleys.  He  tells  us  that  this  plain, 
thus  gradually  worn  down  nearly  to  the  level 
of  the  sea,  must  have  been  subsequently  ele- 
vated to  the  height  of  or  higher  than  the 
present  hills,  with  a  dip  to  the  southward  and 
eastward  toward  the  Atlantic,  whereupon 
began  a  new  series  of  excavations,  which  laid 
open  the  present  lowlands,  and  dug  out  the 

277 


PASSING   OF  THE   PUMP 

beds  of  the  watercourses,  leaving  the  long  and, 
upon  the  average,  nearly  horizontal  lines  of 
the  hills  as  representatives,  though  themselves 
already  much  degraded,  of  the  former  sloping 
upland.  It  was  long  anterior  to  this  that  the 
enormous  streams  of  lava  were  poured  out 
over  the  beds  of  red  sandstone,  low  beetling 
crags  from  which  form  the  ledge  which  now 
dominates  the  cottage  at  Underledge,  from 
fragments  of  which,  as  if  in  bravado,  the  cot- 
tage itself  has  been  constructed ;  and  it  was  at 
a  later  date  that  these  masses  became  as  they 
are  now,  tip-tilted,  not  as  the  petal  of  a 
flower,  but  as  something  of  a  much  sterner 
sort. 

Must  I  think  of  myself  as  a  sort  of  Sala- 
mander, thus  living  within  a  burnt-out  lava 
cell,  or  am  I  to  be  reminded  rather  of  Sam- 
son's experience  with  the  carcass  of  the  lion  ? — 
"  Out  of  the  eater  came  forth  meat,  and  out 
of  the  strong  came  forth  sweetness.''  Under 
the  uncertainty  let  us  put  the  best  face  upon 
the  matter,  and  hardily  claim  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt. 

Where  was  the  prodigious  volcano  from 
which  flowed  these  great  streams  of  molten 
lava?  I  fear  that  we  may  never  discover  the 
crater.  Pleasant  it  is  indeed  to  live  serenely 
upon  the  edge  of  the  upland,  with  no  violent 
perturbations  of  the  solid  earth  to  molest  or 
make  afraid,  yet  methinks  that  I  should  now 

278 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

have  some  added  enjoyment  if,  posted  upon 
a  secure  height,  I  could  once  in  the  far-off 
time  have  looked  down  upon  the  awful  boil- 
ing of  that  mighty  caldron,  and  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  could  have  watched  its  fiery 
streams  spreading  over  this  now  peaceful  land. 
It  is  something  to  be  able  to  picture  it  in 
thought,  and  I  fear  that  I  shall  have  to  content 
myself  with  that.  To  be  sure,  recorded  his- 
tory is  not  without  its  suggestions  as  to  strange 
internal  disturbances  at  no  great  distance  from 
this  spot.  They  may  not  have  had  anything  to 
do  with  that  extinct  volcano,  but  we  must  re- 
member Mark  Twain's  very  pertinent  and  tri- 
umphant query  upon  a  certain  occasion,  "If 
this  is  not  the  tomb  of  Adam,  whose  tomb  is 
it?" 

Now  the  town  of  East  Haddam  is  some 
twenty-five  miles  southeast  of  this  point. 
Dr.  Trumbull,  in  his  "  History  of  Connecti- 
cut," says:  "The  Indian  name  of  the  town 
was  Machemoodus,  which  in  English,  is  the 
place  of  noises;  a  name  given  with  the  utmost 
propriety  to  the  place.  The  accounts  given 
of  the  noises  and  quakings  there,  are  very  re- 
markable. Were  it  not  that  the  people  are 
accustomed  to  them,  they  would  occasion  great 
alarm.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hosmer,  in  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Prince  of  Boston,  written  August  I3th, 
1729,  gives  this  account  of  them:  '  As  to  the 
earthquakes,  I  have  something  considerable 

279 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

and  awful  to  tell  you.  Earthquakes  have 
been  here,  (and  no  where  but  in  this  precinct, 
as  can  be  discerned ;  that  is,  they  seem  to  have 
their  centre  rise  and  origin  among  us,)  as  has 
been  observed  for  more  than  thirty  years.  I 
have  been  informed  that  in  this  place,  before 
the  English  Settlements,  there  were  great 
numbers  of  Indian  inhabitants,  and  that  it  was 
a  place  of  extraordinary  Indian  Pawaws,  or, 
in  short,  where  the  Indians  drove  a  prodigious 
trade  at  worshipping  the  devil.  Also  I  was 
informed,  that  many  years  past,  an  old  Indian 
was  asked,  What  was  the  reason  of  the  noises 
in  this  place?  To  which  he  replied,  that  the 
Indian  God  was  very  angry  because  English- 
men's God  was  come  here. 

"'Now  whether  there  be  anything  diabolical 
in  these  things  I  know  not;  but  this  I  know, 
that  God  Almighty  is  to  be  seen  and  trembled 
at,  in  what  has  been  often  heard  among  us. 
Whether  it  be  fire  or  air  distressed  in  the 
subterraneous  caverns  of  the  earth,  cannot  be 
known;  for  there  is  no  eruption,  no  explosion 
perceptible,  but  by  sounds  and  tremors,  which 
sometimes  are  very  fearful  and  dreadful.  I 
have  myself  heard  eight  or  ten  sounds  succes- 
sively, and  imitating  small  arms,  in  the  space 
of  five  minutes.  I  have,  I  suppose,  heard 
several  hundreds  of  them  within  twenty  years ; 
some  more,  some  less  terrible.  Sometimes  we 
have  heard  them  almost  every  day,  and  great 

280 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

numbers  of  them  in  the  space  of  a  year. 
Oftentimes  I  have  observed  them  to  be  coming 
down  from  the  north,  imitating  slow  thunder, 
until  the  sound  came  near  or  right  under,  and 
then  there  seemed  to  be  a  breaking  like  the 
noise  of  a  cannon  shot,  or  severe  thunder, 
which  shakes  the  houses,  and  all  that  is  in 
them.  They  have  in  a  manner  ceased,  since 
the  great  earthquake.  As  I  remember  there 
have  been  but  two  heard  since  that  time,  and 
those  but  moderate/ 

"  A  worthy  gentleman  about  six  years  since 
gave  the  following  account  of  them.  '  The 
awful  noises  of  which  Mr.  Hosmer  gave  an 
account,  in  his  historical  minutes;  and  con- 
cerning which  you  desire  further  information, 
continue  to  the  present  time.  The  effects 
they  produce,  are  various  as  the  intermediate 
degrees,  between  the  roar  of  a  cannon,  and  the 
noise  of  a  pistol.  The  concussions  of  the 
earth,  made  at  the  same  time,  are  as  much 
diversified  as  the  sounds  in  the  air.  The 
shock  they  give  to  a  dwelling  house,  is  the 
same  as  the  falling  of  logs  on  the  floor.  The 
smaller  shocks  produced  no  emotions  of  terror 
or  fear  in  the  minds  of  the  inhabitants.  They 
are  spoken  of  as  usual  occurrences,  and  are 
called  Moodus  noises.  But  when  they  are  so 
violent  as  to  be  felt  in  the  adjacent  towns,  they 
are  called  earthquakes.  During  my  residence 
here,  which  has  been  almost  thirty-six  years,  I 

281 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

have  invariably  observed,  after  some  of  the 
most  violent  of  these  shocks,  that  an  account 
has  been  published  in  the  newspapers,  of  a 
small  shock  of  an  earthquake,  at  New  London 
and  Hartford.  Nor  do  I  believe,  in  all  that 
period,  there  has  been  any  account  published 
of  an  earthquake  in  Connecticut,  which  was 
not  far  more  violent  here  than  in  any  other 
place.  By  recurring  to  the  newspapers,  you 
will  find,  that  an  earthquake  was  noticed  on 
the  1 8th  of  May,  1791,  about  ten  o'clock  p.  M. 
It  was  perceived  as  far  distant  as  Boston  and 
New  York.  A  few  minutes  after  there  was 
another  shock,  which  was  perceptible  at  the 
distance  of  seventy  miles.  Here,  at  that  time, 
the  concussion  of  the  earth,  and  the  roaring 
of  the  atmosphere,  were  most  tremendous. 
Consternation  and  dread  filled  every  house. 
Many  chimnies  were  untopped  and  walls 
thrown  down.  It  was  a  night  much  to  be 
remembered;  for  besides  the  two  shocks  that 
were  noticed  from  a  distance,  during  the  night 
there  was  here  a  succession  of  shocks,  to  the 
number  of  twenty,  perhaps  thirty;  the  effects 
of  which,  like  all  others,  decreased,  in  every 
direction,  in  proportion  to  the  distances.  The 
next  day,  stones  of  several  tons  weight,  were 
found  removed  from  their  places;  and  aper- 
tures, in  the  earth,  and  fissures  in  unmoveable 
rocks,  ascertained  the  places  where  the  explo- 
sions were  made.  Since  that  time,  the  noises 

282 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

and  shocks  have  been  less  frequent  than  be- 
fore; though  not  a  year  passeth  over  us,  but 
some  of  them  are  perceptible.'  ): 

The  town  of  Derby  is  about  thirty  miles 
southwest  of  us.  The  following  letter  ap- 
peared in  the  Connecticut  Gazette  (I  quote 
from  John  Warner  Barber's  "  Connecticut 
Historical  Collections  ") : 

"Derby,  Feb.  i8th,  1764. 
"  On  the  evening  of  the  seventh  of  this 
instant,  Feb.  1764,  there  was  a  violent 
storm  of  hail  and  rain ;  the  next  morning  after 
was  observed  a  large  breach  in  a  hill  on  the 
west  side  of  the  old  river,  supposed  to  be  oc- 
casioned by  some  subterranean  wind  or  fire; 
the  breach  is  about  twenty  feet  deep,  though 
much  caved  in,  in  length  one  hundred  and 
thirteen  feet;  about  sixty  rods  of  land  are 
covered  with  the  gravel  and  sand  cast  out  of 
the  cavity,  some  of  which  was  carried  two 
hundred  and  fifty  nine  feet  to  the  brink  of 
the  river ;  four  trees  of  about  a  foot  in  diam- 
eter, were  carried  one  hundred  and  seventy 
three  feet  distance,  and  'tis  supposed  by  their 
situation  that  they  must  have  been  forced  up 
forty  feet  high;  some  small  stones  about  the 
bigness  of  walnuts,  were  carried  with  such 
velocity  that  they  stuck  fast  in  a  green  tree 
that  stood  near  the  cavity;  a  large  dry  log 
better  than  two  feet  diameter  was  carried  up 

283 


PASSING   OF   THE    PUMP 

so  far  in  the  air,  that  by  the  force  of  the  fall 
one  end  of  it  stuck  so  fast  in  the  ground  that 
it  kept  the  other  end  up.  The  narrowest  part 
of  the  breach  is  about  thirty  feet  at  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  and  the  bottom  of  the  breach  is 
crooking,  winding  much  like  the  streaks  of 
lightning. 

"The  above  account  was  taken  by  exact 
rule  by  us, 

SILAS  BALDWIN, 
NEHEMIAH  FISHER, 
DAVID  WOOSTER/' 

To  this  a  note  is  appended  from  "  Webster 
on  Pestilence,"  "  A  light  was  seen  on  the  spot 
in  the  evening  before  the  explosion.  It  was 
accompanied  with  a  loud  report,  and  some 
fossil  substances  were  ejected,  which  were 
analyzed  by  Dr.  Munson  of  New  Haven,  and 
found  to  contain  arsenic  and  sulphur." 

By  the  way,  this  book  of  "  Collections  "  is 
an  invaluable  storehouse  of  interesting  items. 
Moodus  was  not  the  only  place  where  reports 
as  of  small  arms  were  heard,  and  in  other 
instances  these  reports  seem  to  have  been  more 
useful.  Take  the  following  from  Simsbury, 
(Simsbury  is  about  ten  miles  north  of  us): 
"  In  the  commencement  of  Philip's  war  in 
New  England,  in  1675,  this  town  [Simsbury] 
was  burnt  by  the  Indians.  Connected  with 
which  event,  current  tradition  has  preserved 

284 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

and  handed  down  the  following  singular  and 
extraordinary  fact:  that,  very  shortly  before 
the  attack  by  the  Indians,  early  one  Sunday 
morning,  as  Lieut.  Robe's  father  was  walk- 
ing over  the  plain  not  far  from  his  house,  he 
very  plainly  and  distinctly  heard  the  report 
of  a  small  arm,  which  much  surprised  him,  it 
being  the  Sabbath.  He  found,  on  returning 
to  his  house,  that  his  family  also  heard  it. 
On  going  to  meeting,  at  which  the  inhab- 
itants from  all  parts  of  the  town  were  as- 
sembled, it  was  ascertained  that  the  report 
was  heard  at  the  same  hour  in  every  quarter. 
It  was,  on  further  examination,  found  to  have 
been  heard  as  far  south  as  Saybrook,  (fifty 
miles,)  and  as  far  north  as  Northfield,  at  that 
time  the  extent  of  the  English  settlements  to 
the  north.  The  report  of  this  gun  alarmed 
all  Connecticut.  The  Governor  summoned 
a  council  of  war  to  meet  at  Hartford ;  and  the 
council  issued  an  order  for  the  inhabitants  of 
Simsbury,  one  and  all,  to  withdraw  them- 
selves to  Hartford,  the  then  capital." 

And  this  from  Killingly,  on  the  eastern 
border  of  the  State.  In  this  case,  the  boys  of 
to-day  would  be  disposed  to  call  the  warning 
"  too  previous  ": 

"  The  Autumn  before  the  American  Revo- 
lution, the  people  of  this  town,  who  had  long 
been  expecting  hostilities  to  commence,  were 
one  day  alarmed  by  what  they  took  to  be  the 

285 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

continued  discharge  of  cannon  and  small  arms 
to  the  N.  E.  in  the  direction  of  Boston.  The 
noise  continued  all  day  and  night  with  scarcely 
any  intermission.  The  sounds  heard,  it  is 
said,  exactly  resembled  those  of  musketry  and 
field  pieces.  First  would  be  heard  a  loud 
report  and  then  smaller  ones,  '  Slam  bang, 
slam  bang/  to  use  the  language  of  those  who 
relate  the  circumstance.  The  impression 
that  the  British  were  coming  was  so  strong 
that  most  of  the  inhabitants  mustered  in  a 
body  to  await  orders  for  marching  to  Boston. 
In  a  few  days  however,  contrary  to  expecta- 
tion, they  learned  that  no  battle  had  taken 
place,  and  that  no  discharge  of  cannon  or 
small  arms  had  been  made  between  this  town 
and  Boston.  Whether  the  sounds  proceeded 
from  the  explosion  of  meteors  or  not,  we  are 
unable  to  say;  but  the  persons  who  heard 
them  considered  them  as  forerunners  of  the 
war,  which  actually  began  six  months  from 
that  time." 

A  demonstration  of  a  different  character, 
and  at  a  somewhat  later  day,  is  reported  from 
Salisbury,  near  the  northwest  corner  of  the 
State;  the  circumstances  were  related  by  Mr. 
Sage  and  his  family: 

"  These  occurrences  commenced  Nov.  8th, 
1802,  at  a  clothier's  shop;  a  man  and  two 
boys  were  in  the  shop ;  the  boys  had  retired  to 
rest,  it  being  between  10  and  n  o'clock  at 

286 


PASSING   OF  THE   PUMP 

night.  A  block  of  wood  was  thrown  through 
the  window ;  after  that,  pieces  of  hard  mortar, 
till  the  man  and  boys  became  alarmed  and 
went  to  the  house  to  call  Mr.  Sage,  who 
arose  from  bed  and  went  to  the  shop,  and 
could  hear  the  glass  break  often  but  could  not 
discover  from  whence  it  came,  notwithstand- 
ing the  night  was  very  light.  He  exerted 
himself  to  discover  the  cause,  but  without  suc- 
cess. It  continued  constantly  till  daylight, 
and  then  ceased  until  the  next  evening  at 
eight  o'clock,  when  it  commenced  again,  and 
continued  till  midnight;  then  ceased  till  the 
next  evening  at  dusk,  and  continued  till  some 
time  in  the  evening,  and  then  ceased.  The 
next  day  it  commenced  about  an  hour  before 
sundown  and  continued  about  an  hour,  and 
then  it  left  the  shop  and  began  at  the  dwell- 
ing house  of  Mr.  Ebenezer  Landon,  100  rods 
north,  in  the  town  of  Sheffield.  It  continued 
several  hours,  and  ceased  till  next  morning: 
when  the  family  were  at  breakfast  it  began 
again,  and  continued  two  or  three  hours,  and 
ceased  till  evening,  when  it  began  again  and 
continued  several  hours,  and  ceased  till  the 
next  morning,  when  it  began  again  and  con- 
tinued all  the  forenoon,  and  then  ceased  all 
together.  The  articles  thrown  into  the  shop 
were  pieces  of  wood,  charcoal,  stone,  but 
principally  pieces  of  hard  mortar,  such  as 
could  not  be  found  in  the  neighborhood. 

287 


PASSING   OF   THE    PUMP 

Nothing  but  stones  were  thrown  into  the 
house  of  Mr.  Landon,  the  first  of  which  were 
thrown  into  the  door.  There  were  38  panes 
of  glass  broken  out  of  the  shop,  and  18  out 
of  the  dwelling  house:  in  two  or  three  in- 
stances persons  were  hit  by  the  things  that 
were  thrown.  What  was  remarkable,  nothing 
could  be  seen  coming  till  the  glass  broke,  and 
whatever  passed  through,  fell  directly  down 
on  the  window  sill,  as  if  it  had  been  put 
through  with  a  person's  fingers,  and  many 
pieces  of  mortar  and  coal  were  thrown 
through  the  same  hole  in  the  glass  in  suc- 
cession. Many  hundreds  of  people  assembled 
to  witness  the  scene,  among  whom  were 
clergymen  and  other  gentlemen,  but  none 
were  able  to  detect  the  source  of  the  mis- 
chief." 

There  seems  to  me  to  have  been  some  lack 
of  dignity  in  this  performance,  and,  moreover, 
it  does  not  relate  itself  to  important  events. 
I  like  better  the  occasional  aerial  displays, 
even  though  they  carry  us  still  further  away 
from  the  volcano  of  which  we  are  in  search. 
As  for  example,  in  Killingly  again,  Mr.  Nell 
Alexander  is  represented  as  saying:  "  In  the 
American  Revolution,  just  before  the  sur- 
render of  Lord  Cornwallis,  I  was  returning 
from  a  visit  to  Providence,  R.  I.  I  had  ar- 
rived in  Killingly,  and  was  within  four  miles 
of  my  residence  at  Alexander's  Lake.  It  was 

288 


PASSING   OF   THE    PUMP 

a  bright  and  clear  night,  without  any  moon. 
I  think  it  was  half  past  ten  when  I  acci- 
dentally looked  up  and  saw  a  most  brilliant 
sight.  A  very  little  south  of  the  zenith,  ex- 
tending east  and  west  in  the  sky,  lay  an  arch 
composed  of  mounted  cannon,  with  their 
muzzles  pointed  toward  the  south.  Their 
color  was  that  of  the  Aurora  Borealis.  I 
viewed  them  a  long  while  and  attempted  to 
number  them,  but  being  in  a  wood,  I  was  un- 
able to  discern  those  which  lay  near  the 
horizon.  I  then  hurried  on  to  overtake  a 
friend  whose  attention  I  wished  to  direct  to 
the  phenomenon.  My  horse  being  fatigued 
however,  I  did  not  reach  him  till  the  remark- 
able sight  had  disappeared.  I  related  the 
event  to  every  person  I  saw  for  a  long  period 
afterwards,  but  could  find  no  one  who  had 
seen  it  besides  myself,  until  I  happened  one 
day  to  be  on  a  visit  to  my  uncle,  Mr.  Levens, 
who  is  no  longer  living.  In  the  course  of 
conversation,  without  knowing  that  I  had 
seen  it,  he  related  precisely  the  same  circum- 
stances which  I  have  just  related  myself.  He 
was  in  Killingly  at  the  time,  and  but  a  few 
miles  from  the  place  where  I  was.  He  in- 
formed me  that  he  took  the  trouble  of  count- 
ing the  cannon,  and  as  he  was  in  a  convenient 
situation  for  the  purpose,  he  doubted  not  that 
he  had  numbered  them  all.  The  whole  num- 
ber was  64.  They  were  removed  at  a  small 

289 


PASSING   OF   THE    PUMP 

distance  from  each  other,  well  mounted  and 
in  a  regular  line." 

This  was  evidently  a  case  that  ran  in  the 
family.  But  my  favorite  is  the  following, 
from  a  letter  from  the  Rev.  James  Pierpont, 
quoted  in  Mather's  "  Magnalia."  In  1647 
times  were  hard  in  the  New  Haven  colony, 
and  a  large  number  became  completely  dis- 
couraged, and  determined  to  go  home.  Hav- 
ing fitted  out  a  small  vessel,  they  succeeded 
in  extricating  her  from  the  ice,  and  sailed  for 
England. 

"  In  June  next  ensuing,  a  great  thunder 
storm  arose  out  of  the  north  west ;  after  which 
(the  hemisphere  being  serene)  about  an  hour 
before  sunset,  a  ship  of  like  dimensions  with 
the  aforesaid,  with  her  canvass  and  colours 
abroad,  (though  the  wind  northernly,)  ap- 
peared in  the  air  coming  up  from  our  har- 
bour's mouth,  which  lyes  southward  from  the 
town,  seemingly  with  her  sails  filled  with  a 
fresh  gale,  holding  her  course  north,  and  con- 
tinuing under  observation,  sailing  against  the 
wind  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour. 

"  Many  were  drawn  to  behold  this  great 
work  of  God;  yea,  the  very  children  cryed 
out — There's  a  brave  ship!  At  length, 
crowding  up  as  far  as  there  is  usually  water 
sufficient  for  such  a  vessel,  and  so  near  some 
of  the  spectators,  as  that  they  imagined  a  man 
might  hurl  a  stone  on  board  her,  her  main- 

290 


PASSING   OF  THE   PUMP 

top  seemed  to  be  blown  off,  but  left  hanging 
in  the  shrouds;  then  her  missen-top;  then  all 
her  masting  seemed  blown  away  by  the  board : 
quickly  after  the  hulk  brought  into  a  careen, 
she  overset,  and  so  vanished  into  a  smoaky 
cloud,  which  in  some  time  dissipated,  leaving, 
as  evetywhere  else,  a  clear  sky.  The  admir- 
ing spectators  could  distinguish  the  several 
colours  of  each  part,  the  principal  rigging, 
and  such  proportions  as  caused  not  only  the 
generality  of  persons  to  say,  This  was  the 
mould  of  their  ship,  and  this  was  her  tragick 
end:  but  Mr.  Davenport  also  in  publick  de- 
clared to  this  effect:  That  God  had  conde- 
scended for  the  quieting  of  their  afflicted 
spirits,  this  extraordinary  account  of  his  sov- 
ereign disposal  of  those  for  whom  so  many 
fervent  prayers  were  made  continually." 
Was  not  this  the  Flying  Dutchman,  how- 
ever? 

But  we  have  traveled  far  away:  let  us  re- 
turn to  Underledge;  for  even  here  there  has 
been  a  hint  of  nature's  hidden  forces,  and 
that  within  recent  times,  for  I  remember  that 
but  a  few  months  ago,  at  the  beginning  of 
September,  1895,  I  awoke  from  deep  sleep 
in  the  dead  of  the  night  at  the  tiniest  touch 
of  that  unmistakable  tremor  which  marks  the 
shuddering  of  the  earth. 

Perhaps,  if  I  had  known  something  more  of 
the  history  of  the  hillside,  I  might  still  have 

291 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

bored  the  well,  and  perhaps  also  I  might  not. 
I  believe  that  the  elder  or  the  younger  Weller 
says  somewhere  that  "  the  merit  of  this  ob- 
servation lies  in  the  application  of  it,"  or 
words  to  that  effect,  but  this  is  not  always 
strictly  so.  The  observation  might  be  first- 
rate,  but  the  application  of  it  very  bad  indeed. 

However  this  may  be,  I  was  about  as  igno- 
rant as  my  neighbors,  and  so  it  came  to  pass, 
as  I  have  related  elsewhere,  that  the  engine 
was  set  up,  and  the  drill  was  let  down,  and 
began  tap,  tap,  tap-ing,  in  the  modern  and 
prosaic  form  of  the  inquiry  whether  Undine 
is  at  home.  And  so  it  continued  hammering 
through  the  "  hard-pan  "  of  compact,  sandy 
clay,  incomplete  or  over-ripe  rock,  for  a  week 
or  two,  until  we  had  reached  a  depth  of  sev- 
enty-eight feet.  Then  a  little  coarser  sand 
was  reported,  and  a  rising  of  water  in  the 
tube  to  the  height  of  thirty  or  forty  feet. 
And  I  called  quits!  and  the  pump  was  duly 
inserted. 

It  was  a  good  pump,  a  very  good  pump, 
and  it  did  the  best  it  could.  To  be  sure,  it 
was  not  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  work- 
ing a  pump  rod  sixty-five  feet  long,  but  then 
it  might  have  been  worse.  And  the  water 
had  a  sort  of  sanguinary  aspect,  but  that 
grew  better,  much  better.  And  after  a  while 
it  reached  a  point  where,  after  it  had  stood 
long  enough  to  settle,  we  ventured  to  drink  it, 

292 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

and  I  can  honestly  say  that  I  have  tasted 
worse. 

Then  came  one  memorable  Sunday!  I 
pumped  for  a  while  in  the  morning,  and  I 
said,  "  Ah— this  is  something  like !  The 
water  is  clearing  up  nicely!  "  And  I  pumped 
a  little  while  in  the  afternoon ;  and  after  two 
or  three  strokes,  and  before  any  water  had 
reached  the  spout,  I  noticed  a  sort  of  slug- 
gishness, an  unwonted  reluctance  upon  the 
part  of  the  machinery  which  rapidly  in- 
creased, and,  after  a  few  more  strokes,  only 
by  throwing  my  whole  mighty  weight  upon 
the  pump-handle  could  I  gradually  bring  it 
down,  whereupon  it  incontinently  began  to 
rise  of  itself.  That  was  in  the  month  of 
April,  and  never  again  did  the  unlucky  pump 
bring  a  drop  of  wrater  to  the  surface.  Its 
bucket  was  held  in  the  grasp  of  a  quicksand, 
which  was  worse  than  Gilliatt's  devil-fish,  for 
the  body  of  the  monster  lay  safely  stowed 
away  far  beneath  the  ponderous  hill. 

And  then  we  had  our  experiences,  some  of 
which  I  have  already  detailed.  For  a  time, 
snow  freshly  gathered  and  melted  provided  a 
luxurious  tipple,  and  then,  as  the  season  ad- 
vanced, I  discovered  and  developed  fine 
springs  in  the  talus  of  the  cliff,  which  fur- 
nished us  a  bountiful  supply  of  the  purest 
crystal  water.  Meanwhile  the  accumulation 
of  rain  water  in  the  cistern  satisfied  the  im- 

293 


PASSING   OF   THE   PUMP 

perative  demands  of  the  general  circulatory 
system  of  the  cottage.  These  were  halcyon 
times.  But  ere  the  Spring  had  fairly  surren- 
dered to  Summer,  my  last  magnificent  foun- 
tain under  the  cliff,  which  had  at  first  been 
good  for  a  hundred  barrels  a  day,  dwindled 
more  and  more,  until  at  the  end  its  basin  was 
as  dry  as  a  withered  heart.  So  I  was  forced 
for  culinary  purposes,  and  for  the  table,  to  rely 
upon  my  neighbor's  distant  well,  while  ever 
and  anon  long  periods  of  comparative  drought 
caused  heaven's  fresh  supply  to  run  so  ex- 
tremely low  in  the  cistern  as  to  make  me  feel 
grateful  when  we  were  vouchsafed  a  heavy 
dew. 

Thus  passed  the  early  Summer  months. 
Ere  Autumn  came  an  adequate  replenishment 
for  ordinary  purposes,  but  Autumn  had  come 
and  gone,  and  still  Aquarius  daily  crossed 
the  mountain  meadow  with  that  which  was 
intended  for  finer  uses.  Thus  it  was  that  I 
was  led  to  enter  upon  the  supreme  experi- 
ment, the  beginning  of  which, — was  it  not 
duly  recorded  in  "Lamb's  Tales"? 

The  time  has  now  arrived  to  tell  the 
sequel.  The  labor  upon  which  I  had  entered 
proved  to  be  more  considerable  than  I  had 
planned,  and  it  was  executed  under  adverse 
circumstances.  We  had  heavy  rains,  and 
then  we  had  a  sharp  fall  in  temperature  and 
severe  freezing.  The  digging  was  much 

294 


PASSING   OF  THE   PUMP 

more  considerable  than  I  had  bargained  for, 
and  was  disagreeable  enough  to  suit  any 
taste;  and,  to  make  it  doubly  interesting,  at 
some  points  we  reached  quicksand,  probably 
a  part  of  the  same  deposit  which  we  had 
discovered  at  a  much  greater  depth  upon  the 
hill.  At  length,  however,  the  conductors 
were  laid  to  the  catch  basin,  with  laterals 
here  and  there,  the  drive  pipe  was  laid  .to  the 
ram,  the  waste  pipes  were  laid  from  each  of 
these,  the  service  pipe  was  carried  to  the  cot- 
tage, and  the  several  trenches  were  filled  as 
best  they  could  be  with  great,  hard,  frozen 
chunks  of  earth,  for  the  thawing  of  which 
we  could  not  wait.  And  now  we  were  ready 
for  the  installation. 

It  was  off  with  the  old  love  and  on  with 
the  new.  With  proper  ceremonies  the  useless 
pump  was  drawn  from  the  well. 

"  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried,'* 

but  it  was  a  scene  which  was  not  unaccom- 
panied by  sad  reflections.  As  I  watched  the 
process  I  had  a  feeling — 

"  A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain." 

But  it  does  not  answer  to  surrender  our- 
selves to  feelings  such  as  these;  and  turning 

295 


PASSING   OF  THE   PUMP 

from  the  old  to  the  new,  we  watched  with 
more  than  equal  interest  the  setting  of  the  ram 
in  its  place  and  the  connection  of  the  pipes. 

The  critical  moment  has  arrived;  the  valve 
is  pushed  down,  the  water  splashes  out  upon 
either  side,  but  is  immediately  shut  off  by  the 
rising  of  the  valve  into  its  seat;  at  the  shock 
it  falls  again,  and  then  tap,  tap,  tap  it  goes, 
and  the  current  is  set  in  motion  up  the  long 
pipe  and  to  the  waiting  tank  in  the  attic. 

I  cannot  at  this  present  season  comfortably 
lie  on  my  back  in  the  pasture  and  hear  the 
music,  for  the  snow  is  too  damp,  but  when 
the  night  is  calm  and  all  other  sounds  cease, 
I  can  stand  on  the  veranda  and  listen  to  the 
tap  as  the  little  fellow  beats  with  his — foot, 
shall  I  say? — one  hundred  and  fifteen  times  a 
minute,  day  in  and  day  out.  Or  I  can  stop 
at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  which  leads  to  the 
upper  regions,  as  I  frequently  do,  and  listen 
to  the  petty  stream  as  it  falls  into  the  recep- 
tacle prepared  for  it. 

And  in  conclusion,  I  am  happy  to  reflect 
that  some  things  can  be  done  as  well  as  others, 
and  even,  at  times,  a  great  deal  better. 


296 


XLI 
THE   GUEST   BOOK 

HAVE  you  ever  learned  what  interest 
there  is  in  a  record  of  those  who 
come  within  your  gates  from  month 
to  month  throughout  the  year?  I 
do  not  mean  of  the  butcher,  the  baker,  the  can- 
dle-stick maker,  or  even  of  the  plumber,  for 
these,  though  interesting,  like  the  poor  are 
always  with  us,  and  they  are  a  trifle  monot- 
onous. Nor  do  I  mean  merely  of  those  who 
come  "  to  stay  " ;  who  break  bread  with  you, 
and  partake  of  your  salt,  and  try  the  virtues 
of  your  soporific  air.  But,  while  including 
these,  I  mean  also  those  who  from  love,  or 
friendship,  or  courtesy,  or  public  interest,  or 
curiosity,  or  whatever  motive,  seek  you  out, 
and  give  you  the  pleasure  of  extending  a  wel- 
come, the  right  hand  of  fellowship,  and  the 
freedom  of  the  country. 

The  freedom  of  the  country,  not  of  the 
city.  Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  I  know 
that  there  may  be,  that  there  are,  homes  in  the 
city,  homes  that  are  even  actual  homes,  where 
people  have  a  real  family  life,  and  occupations 
which  they  enjoy,  and  in  which  their  friends 

29? 


THE   GUEST   BOOK 

are  sometimes  allowed  to  participate.  A  day 
or  two  ago  my  heart  quite  warmed  over  a 
paragraph  in  my  daily  paper,  in  which  a  New 
York  lady  detailed  the  experiences  of  her 
first  visit  to  Brooklyn  during  the  daytime, 
and  the  refreshing  recollections  of  early  youth 
brought  to  her  mind  by  seeing  an  occasional 
dwelling  house  which  showed  life  through  the 
windows,  a  woman  or  a  girl,  or  two  or  three, 
sewing  or  reading,  and  appearing  to  be  actually 
at  home, — and  plants  growing,  which  did  not 
seem  merely  for  show,  and  other  indications 
that  the  world  was  still  young.  Yes,  there 
are  homes  even  now  in  the  city,  although  I 
have  walked  for  miles  and  miles  along  the 
streets  and  seen  no  signs  of  them,  but  simply 
houses.  And  a  Guest  Book  might  be  some- 
times kept  in  such  homes  and  have  its  interest, 
as  well  as  in  the  country. 

But  it  is  in  the  country  that  you  will  find 
the  real  home.  And  when  people  go  thither, 
they  go  purposely.  Doubtless  it  is  often 
merely  curiosity  which  impels  them,  but  there 
is  nothing  criminal  in  curiosity,  quite  the 
contrary.  The  civilized  world  would  be  a 
very  different  world  indeed  and  a  very  inferior 
world,  had  it  not  been  for  the  discoveries  made 
and  the  changes  effected  in  consequence  of  the 
exercise  of  curiosity.  Pandora  may  have  been 
a  very  restless  creature,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  she  managed  to  bring  us  into  a  peck  of 

298 


THE   GUEST   BOOK 

trouble,  but  who  wouldn't  have  opened  the 
box  ?  And  what  a  monotonous  time  we  should 
have  had  if  it  had  been  kept  hermetically 
sealed !  But  this  would  have  been  impossible : 
I  am  sure  that  some  cracksman  would  have 
reached  the  inside  of  it  erelong,  even  if  the  lit- 
tle jade  had  not  lifted  the  cover,  or  given 
Epimetheus  an  opportunity  to  do  so,  whichever 
it  was  that  really  happened — if  either  did. 

Some  of  my  guests,  quite  naturally,  do  not 
fully  understand  why  I  want  their  signatures, 
and  liken  my  Guest  Book  to  a  hotel  register. 
And  then  I  have  my  little  jest  which  I  get  off 
upon  every  opportunity — that  I  should  not 
know  to  whom  to  send  the  bills  if  I  did  not 
have  the  names  and  addresses.  Isn't  a  re- 
cluse entitled  to  have  his  own  private  little 
joke  as  well  as  the  habitue  of  the  club?  And 
is  it  just  that  this  pet  joke,  after  once  using, 
should  then  be  discarded  as  a  thing  of  naught? 
Out  upon  such  niggardliness !  Let  us  be  more 
generous  with  our  good  things.  With  a  little 
combing  and  trimming  and  dressing,  with  a 
dab  of  rouge  here  and  a  bit  of  henna  there, 
they  ought  to  serve  for  many  a  year,  like  good 
wines  growing  ever  riper  and  better  with  age. 
Only,  one  has  to  be  careful,  and  not  repeat 
them  too  often  in  the  same  presence.  A  new 
audience  is  essential  to  the  entire  success  of  a 
joke.  I  had  a  friend  once 

" — a  kinder  friend  has  no  man," 
299 


THE   GUEST   BOOK 

who  had  a  way  of  saying  "  Bim  "  when  he 
heard  the  familiar  first  words  of  the  old  story. 
That  was  a  good  plan,  but  we  cannot  always 
have  such  external  support,  and  are  therefore 
compelled  to  a  certain  degree  of  circumspection. 

Nearly  two  weeks  had  elapsed  after  the 
house  became  a  home,  and  it  was  almost  the 
Ides  of  March  before  the  Guest  Book  was  dug 
out  of  the  case  in  which  it  had  been  packed, 
and  made  ready  for  use,  and  it  is  now  the 
twenty-fourth  of  the  following  January.  As 
I  look  over  the  hundreds  of  names  which  have 
already  been  inscribed  upon  its  pages,  my 
thought  goes  wandering  off  this  way  and  that 
on  as  many  lines,  and  concerning  as  many  lives, 
which  meet  and  cross  and  spread  over  the 
home  field  in  a  network  which  typifies  that  of 
the  great  world  itself. 

Here  upon  the  first  page  is  Phollis, — but 
perhaps  you  do  not  know  Phollis  ?  /  do :  and 
at  the  top  of  the  second  I  find  Arnchen,  "  with 
Wotan  and  Pussy  willow."  Wotan  is  not 
the  father  of  the  Gods  himself,  but  his  name- 
sake, a  great  big  St.  Bernard  puppy,  as  big  as 
a  young  ox,  who  does  not  know  how  to  stand 
still,  and  will  knock  you  entirely  off  your  feet 
if  you  do  not  take  care.  And  this  was  the 
first  time  that  Pussy  willow  had  been  out  that 
spring,  and  she  was  not  old  enough  or  strong 
enough  to  come  by  herself,  and  so  had  to  be 
carried. 

300 


THE   GUEST   BOOK 

Then  there  is  my  enthusiastic  neighbor  who 
is  sure  that  the  right  to  be  somewhere  else  is 
an  inherent  right,  like  that  to  life,  liberty,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness,  and  that  it  is  only 
necessary  for  us  to  decide  that  it  shall  be  so, 
in  order  that  our  persons  and  property  may 
be  carried  whither  we  will,  practically  with- 
out money  and  without  price.  We  and  our 
belongings  are  to  be  delivered  at  any  station 
which  we  may  select,  upon  the  postal  principle. 
And  afterward  comes  my  Liberal  Unionist 
neighbor  (but  I  believe  that  I  should  no  longer 
say  Liberal,  but  merely  "Unionist") — the 
international  journalist,  who  tells  the  English 
all  about  America,  and  the  Americans  all 
about  England,  and  so  tends  to  create  a  com- 
mon understanding. 

There  are  two  noteworthy  cases  among 
others  upon  the  next  page,  and  one  of  them 
leaves  this  comment,  which,  as  the  Englishman 
says,  is  not  half-bad  for  an  impromptu: 

"  Sweet  Summer,  trailing  garments  of  rich  green, 
Could  not  add  beauty  to  this  perfect  scene. 
Enwrapt  in  Winter's  snow  these  hills  possess 
A  grand  yet  most  pathetic  loveliness. 
And  he,  who  of  all  Dames  loves  Nature  best, 
Has  chosen  well  at  Underledge  to  rest." 

Upon  the  next  page  I  find  among  others 
the  name  of  la  Signora  Alba; — in  what  strange 
land  may  she  be  now  abiding? — and  another 
name  which  is  a  curious  reminder  of  Maxi- 

301 


THE   GUEST   BOOK 

milian's  ill-fated  Mexican  empire, — that  of  the 
musician  of  his  Court.  And,  again,  upon  the 
next  I  fall  upon  one  which  recalls  a  vain  and 
perilous  search  for  that  supposed  Florida  vol- 
cano which  has  so  long  tantalized  observers 
from  afar,  and  a  great  mishap  thereupon  at- 
tending; and  another,  that  of  a  former  United 
States  Consul  at  the  Piraeus,  who,  looking  off 
from  the  terrace  one  superb  day,  warmed  my 
heart  with  more  than  classic  heat  by  compar- 
ing the  scene  before  him  with  that  of  the  vale 
of  Tempe. 

In  the  collection  upon  the  page  following 
appears  the  autograph  of  the  lady  of  the 
Manor,  and  that  of  a  prodigal  of  an  artist, 
home  returning  nevertheless  full  of  years  and 
of  honors,  and  fully  conscious  that  a  candle  is 
intended  to  be  set  upon  a  candlestick,  and  not 
hidden  under  a  bushel.  And  among  those 
upon  the  next  is  one  subscribed  to  the  follow- 
ing verse — which  I  subsequently  met  again  in 
one  of  the  later  Autumn's  harvest  of  books: 

"  At  the  edge  of  the  hedge  is  a  hawthorn  tree, 
And  its  blossoms  are  sweet  as  sweet  can  be, 
And  the  birds  they  sing  there  all  day  long, 
And  this  is  the  burden  of  their  song  : 

*  Sweet,  sweet  is  the  hawthorn  tree !  '  ' 

Two  pages  later  is  a  name  which  carries  my 
thought  far  away  to  Russia  and  to  Count 
Tolstoi  (as  indeed  the  previous  one  might 
have  done),  and  then  there  is  a  whole  flight  of 

302 


THE   GUEST   BOOK 

"  Ancients "  from  far  and  wide,  come  to 
alight  for  a  moment  on  the  familiar  field. 
And  in  a  little  while  appears  our  genial  cos- 
mic philosopher,  the  author  of  the  "  Begin- 
nings," Professor  Fiske,  and  then  at  one  jump 
as  it  were,  we  are  landed  at  Reykjavik  in  Ice- 
land, and  I  am  reminded  that  if  in  the  late 
summer  I  have  Greece  in  view  out  of  my  front 
door,  according  to  Professor  Keep,  in  May  I 
have  had  an  Icelandic  Valley  spread  before  my 
bay  window,  according  to  Madam  Magnusson. 
And  then  Yale  College  puts  in  a  claim,  in  view 
of  the  weather-beaten  ancestral  home  below 
the  cottage,  and  soon  after  comes  a  bewilder- 
ing flight  of  butterflies  escaped  from  the  clois- 
ter, by  which  my  eyes  are  dazzled. 

Here  are  two  names,  whose  bearers  are 
fresh  from  the  faraway  city — the  fresher  for 
being  now  far  away,  for  one  of  them  quotes  of 
this  present  abiding  place, 

"  In  which  it  is  enough  for  me 
Not  to  be  doing,  but  to  be." 

But  I  cannot  pretend,  as  one  after  another 
I  turn  them  over,  even  to  select  wisely  from 
these  pages  with  their  various  suggestions  of 
individual,  of  time,  and  of  place.  Here  upon 
two  consecutive  pages  are  casual  visitors  from 
Absecom,  New  Jersey;  Tarpon  Springs, 
Florida;  Farmington,  Connecticut;  Toronto, 
Canada;  New  York  City,  Baltimore,  Min- 

303 


THE   GUEST   BOOK 

neapolis,  and  Songaloo,  Mississippi.  Think  of 
the  spider  tracks  made  over  the  land  by  these 
individuals  as  they  went  to  and  fro,  of  their 
casual  meetings,  and  their  partings,  as  of 
"  ships  that  pass  in  the  night."  And  what 
stories  they  bore  about  with  them,  stories  of 
which,  here  and  there,  I  have  the  clew.  With 
some,  the  tale  has  been  told,  the  denouement 
reached,  and  they  are  now  but  marking  time 
in  that  little  space  upon  the  last  page  which  is 
filled  with  stars — thank  Heaven  that  it  is 
filled  with  stars! — ere  a  firm  hand  shall  one 
day  write  at  the  foot,  Finis.  And  some — how 
many!  are  only  hesitating  on  the  verge,  peer- 
ing curiously  in  between  the  leaves,  wonder- 
ing, yet  unaware  how  the  story  may  run,  or 
whither  it  may  tend.  And  yet  others,  all 
unconscious  in  many  instances  it  may  be,  are 
in  the  (Sturm  unb  SDrcmg,  in  the  very  stir  and 
stress  of  the  drama,  day  by  day  making  their 
exits  and  their  entrances  as  if  they  were  living 
common  workaday  lives  among  their  fellows. 


304 


XLII 

OVER    AND    UNDER    THE 
SNOW 

IT  is  of  no  use.  I  have  been  badgering 
my  brains  and  teasing  the  vocabulary  to 
find  some  words  that  might  indicate  the 
beauty  of  the  morning,  but  in  vain. 
Fandy  Saekel  and  those  of  his  cult  would,  I 
know,  try  to  help  me ;  they  would  gladly  turn 
inside  out  the  whole  establishment  of  an 
Artists'  Colorman,  and  give  me  a  sample  card 
of  all  the  pigments  therein  contained  fresh  and 
raw,  in  smears  and  chunks,  but  I  will  have 
none  of  it.  Cazin,  indeed,  might  arouse  in  me 
a  thrill  of  response,  and  I  can  but  think  that 
if  the  nouveaux  would  sit  humbly  at  his  feet 
for  a  few  centuries  they  might  in  the  end 
imbibe  something  of  his  spirit  and  be  prepared 
to  go  to  Mother  Nature  with  hopeful  hearts. 
Even  then  they  should  stop  and  breathe  a  little 
prayer,  or  at  least  pulse  a  silent  aspiration, 
that  they  might  be  preserved  from  all  libel, 
detraction,  and  misrepresentation. 

The  snow  began  falling  upon  Tuesday 
afternoon,  coming  from  the  mountains  in  the 
far  northwest,  stealing  softly  across  the  valley, 

305 


OVER   AND    UNDER    SNOW 

and  at  last  gently  sifting  down  upon  us  in  tiny 
crystals,  so  fine  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible, 
and  with  great  spaces  between:  falling  with- 
out haste  and  without  rest  through  the  wind- 
less air,  hour  after  hour  far  into  the  dark 
night.  Gradually  it  covered  thinly  the  smooth 
places,  and  filtered  between  the  blades  of 
grass,  and  changed  the  country  from  brown  to 
gray,  and  from  gray  to  white.  Then  when 
the  morning  broke,  the  sunlight  flooded  the 
dazzling  fields,  and  every  object  stood  out 
boldly,  sharp  and  clear. 

But  with  the  coming  of  another  day,  the 
clouds  drifted  together  again,  and  again  began 
the  silent  fall,  slow  but  steady,  like  a  sprin- 
kling with  fine  powder  until  you  examined  it 
closely,  and  found  each  tiny  grain  to  be  a 
crystal  gem.  And  so  it  continued  on  into  the 
night,  and  on  again  through  the  next  day, 
with  the  north  wind  gradually  rising  until  the 
particles  seemed  to  go  past  me  horizontally, 
and  I  wondered  how  and  where  it  should  be 
that  they  would  finally  sink  to  rest.  And 
soft  curves  and  wreaths  were  built  up  around 
the  cottage,  with  thin,  delicate  edges,  which 
seemed  to  need  but  the  breath  of  a  mosquito 
to  send  them  tumbling  in  a  thousand  impon- 
derable fragments.  Only  for  an  hour  did  it 
come  in  downy,  fleecy  flakes,  such  as  fill  the 
air,  and  make  one  feel  that  the  sky  is  really 
falling. 

306 


OVER   AND    UNDER    SNOW 

But  this  morning !  Ah  it  is  that  of  which  I 
wish  to  write,  but  I  cannot :  how  the  sun  shone 
out  in  his  glory,  and  gilded  the  nearer  slopes, 
and  threw  a  warm  .glow  over  the  scattered 
shrubs  and  trees  and  the  great  stretches  of 
forest,  and  warmed  up  the  expanse  of  sky, 
from  the  blue  above  through  the  softening 
shades  of  green  to  the  vaporous  and  almost 
imperceptible  clouds  over  the  hills;  and  then 
beneath,  the  ethereal  haze  of  infinitesimal  ice 
crystals  floating  in  the  air,  a  diaphanous  veil 
over  the  mountains  and  the  valley,  which 
glowed  and  palpitated  with  opalescent  hues, 
the  very  sublimated  essence  of  the  mother  of 
pearl.  The  blue  was  on  the  hills,  but  such  a 
blue!  No — let  me  not  attempt  to  paint  with 
words  that  which  only  could  be  felt. 

And  all  was  peace.  Beneath  the  snow  were 
many  things:  and  some  we  had  laid  away  in 
sorrow,  alike  beyond  expression,  and  now  and 
then  the  memory  recurs  with  an  intensity  too 
bitter  to  be  borne.  But  under  the  snow  we 
know  that  the  grass  is  finding  safety  from  the 
strenuous  cold,  and  that  the  slender  root- 
fibers  of  plant  and  shrub  and  tree  are  grop- 
ing in  the  soil  for  their  bread  of  life :  and  that 
in  the  seed  kernels  the  mysterious  processes  are 
going  on  quite  silently  which  herald  the  com- 
ing of  the  stem  and  leaf  and  blossom  and  fruit 
of  another  year.  And  the  soft  fallen  snow, 
like  a  downy  blanket  on  a  winter's  night,  keeps 

307 


OVER   AND   UNDER   SNOW 

all  alike  quite  snug  and  safe;  but  more  than 
that, — it  brought  with  it  from  the  skies,  fast 
bound  within  its  colorless  crystals,  the  floating 
elements  from  the  air  which  shall  in  the  com- 
ing days  mingle  with  those  in  the  soil  to  vivify 
the  slumbering  germ,  and  bring  its  life  to  a 
happy  consummation. 

And  so  we  lift  up  our  eyes  into  the  hills 
from  whence  cometh  our  help,  and  we  feel 
that  it  is  all  a  mystery,  and  know  that  we  can- 
not understand  it  the  least  bit  in  the  world; 
but  looking  out  upon  the  glory  which  is,  we 
surrender  ourselves  like  little  children  to  the 
good  cheer  which  is  tendered  to  us  in  such 
ample  measure,  and  cannot  help  but  dream 
that  it  is  but  a  faint  and  faltering  vision  of  the 
glory  which  shall  be. 


THE    END 


308 


YC149432 


